The Means to and End
by Rebelrugger0307
Summary: Isabelle Beckett carries with her a strange and valuable gift. In a world where the immaterial has become immaterial, will her brother abuse her gifts to get the ends to his means? Or will she forge her own path, finding her place in the world?
1. Chapter 1

Some say having a woman aboard a ship is bad luck. Some say that women are evil and have even gone so far as to accuse some of witchcraft. Some were burned at the stake for such crimes. None of these things were anything that Isabelle Beckett held any stock in.

No one would believe that the statuesque young woman on the deck of the rolling sloop, dressed as she was in the finest of Indian silks and holding her head high, was once a huddled, dirty urchin held in the bowels of Bedlam Asylum. She of all people knew that things weren't always what they seemed.

* * *

Isabelle remembered distinctly the day Lord Beckett first came into her private cell at Bedlam Asylum. She'd been put in the dank, isolated cell because she was a danger to herself and to others. She'd lashed out at guards and other prisoners, they'd tried chaining her, but her keening had kept others up and her jailors finally did as she had begged, and brought her to a solitary cell.

Isabelle looked up through a curtain of greasy hair as two men walked into her cell. The first one smiled kindly at her. He was a regular to her sad little isolated world, and often brought her sweets and a bit of extra bread. The jailor was large and had dark greasy hair that fell in his face; he thought it hid the pox scars, but it brought more attention to them. The second man was obviously not a member of Bedlam's illustrious poor. His gray overcoat was of the finest quality wool and the India silk of his waistcoat shone in the dank cell. Isabelle had never seen colors so vibrant before. His wig was perfectly powdered and curled. He held a kerchief to his nose to try and block out the stench of bodies and filth that permeated every pore of the building.

"No." Isabelle said. She tried to press herself farther back into the cold brick walls and stared resolutely at the shadows opposite her.

"No what?" The well dressed man asked looking to his guide.

"I won't do it." Isabelle answered. "I won't."

"I'm afraid you just did dearest…I never did ask me question." The greasy man said with a black toothed grin. Isabelle scowled in the pale torch light.

"You said that you had something of interest to show me, and you show me a dirty child…why?" The well dressed man asked impatiently.

"Because she can read people, sir. Watch…"

"I don't want to." The little girl whispered into the darkness.

"Come now dearest….this is your chance…." The jailor's voice oozed and flowed sweet as liquid sugar as he tried to convince the child. The well dressed man watched, disgusted as the little girl crawled forward and grasped the hem of her jailor's frayed coat.

"Please…just leave me here…forget about me…" The jailor raised his arm as if to strike her and she flew back to her corner of the cell as if the man had wielded fire against her.

"That's better." The man said lowering his arm and returning to his sugar sweet demeanor. The girl stood up slowly and seemed to wobble on her stick thin legs. The well dressed man was revolted as the skeleton girl shuffled in front of the big man as he led his other guest down the hall into a room he'd set up earlier. "Now, sir, go on that side of the board and set out the cards in any order you wish." The well dressed man did as he was asked, curious to see what game the jailor was up to. The little girl stood beside the door and watched as Beckett moved the cards about behind the board on the table.

"Now, look at the cards and think about them, sir. She'll tell you what cards you picked." Without waiting Isabelle began to spout off the names and suits of the cards Lord Beckett had lain out on the table.

"Three of clubs, six of spades, King of clubs, Jack of clubs, Queen of Hearts…..He's thinking of the ace of spades, but he's trying to fool me…it's the two of hearts."

Lord Beckett's eyes focused on the child.

"How do you know that?" He asked.

"I don't know." The girl looked away. "You don't believe it though."

"No."

"There are men playing dice in the next room….one is about to accuse the other of cheating." Suddenly an outburst broke through the door and the sound of raised voices bounced off the walls of the hall. The jailor ignored it as the voices carried away from the room they were in.

"She's what the gypsy's call an empath sir…a reader. She knows what you're thinking before you do."

"How did you find out?"

"Chance…she warned me that one of the committed unfortunates had it out for me. Bugger nearly killed me when me back was turned."

"Can she do it again?"

"She can't NOT do it again." The jailor answered with a derisive laugh as he looked at the girl affectionately and stroked her greasy hair. She jerked away and glared at them both. The well dressed gentleman approached the child and knelt down to look up into her dark, haunting eyes.

"If I take you from here….will you do it again?"

"I don't want to."

"Well now, aren't you a good English Girl?" The child stared blankly and flinched, before answering.

"Yes."

"Well now, all good English Girls wish to help their King and Crown. Did you know that?" The little girl glared at the man. "Of course you did. And if you came with me, you'd be helping the King."

"I'd be helping the King, but you'd profit from it."

"As shall the King." The little girl narrowed her eyes on the man. "Would you rather rot in this place forever!" The man suddenly bellowed and the girl flung herself backwards as if burned and cowered in the corner.

She whimpered in the corner for a moment before pushing the hair from her face and looking up at Beckett, neither agreeing, nor protesting.

"Pack her up…I'll take her." Lord Beckett left the room in a hurry leaving the jailor to make the necessary arrangements to move Isabelle.

* * *

Isabelle stood in the townhouse and looked up at the fine white porcelain walls, the fine sweep of the marble staircase and the elegant crystal chandelier above them. A plump woman swept down the stairs and curtsied before the well dressed gentleman and Isabelle.

"Feed her, dress her…for God's sake, bathe her." The man said as he stalked away from them, his polished shoes echoing on the hardwood floors. "Have her prepared to leave this evening." He shouted as he exited the foyer.

The woman took the girl upstairs and did as the lord had asked. The woman was brushing Isabelle's newly cleaned hair when suddenly Isabelle turned around and stared at the door to the sparse room.

"What is it girl?"

"There's a boy out there….looking through the key hole…." The sudden 'thunk' of a heavy marble hitting the floor betrayed their watcher and the maid opened the door to show a blue eyed, brown haired boy staring back.

"Cutler! How many times have I told you not to go peeping in key holes?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do. I'll be lord of this house when my father dies." The boy stalked down the hallway with his nose in the air.

"Who is he?" Isabelle asked still sitting in the chair where the maid had left her.

"How did you know he was there? I didn't hear a peep from him until his marble fell."

"I heard a board creak." Isabelle lied as she turned back to look in the mirror. She didn't like telling people that she knew what they were thinking. She didn't want the woman to know she was reading her thoughts.

"Aren't you a lucky one…you'll be going to India with his Lordship on the evening tide."

"India?"

"Aye." The woman said as she plaited Isabelle's hair and tied it off with a thick green ribbon that matched her dress. "You'll have a grand time down there I expect."

* * *

Isabelle was pulled from her reverie as the planks of the ship's decking shuddered imperceptibly. The sailors on deck continued to scurry about furling sails and scrubbing decking. Cutler was below decks in the big cabin going over ledgers and maps.

He was angry.

She felt as if flames were licking at her slippered feet. She rolled her eyes and continued to stare at the rolling blue gray waves of the open sea.

* * *

She'd known Cutler since she was five. That was when his father, Lord Andrew Beckett, had brought her to work for him. The night she'd been taken from Bedlam, and brought to the townhouse, she, Cutler, and the plump woman, rode in a carriage to the docks where a ship bobbed in the high tide.

"Well, she does clean up rather well." Lord Beckett said when he saw Isabelle come up the gangway holding the hand of the plump woman. "That will be all Ann. Good night." The plump woman curtsied, and left Isabelle with Lord Beckett and his eight year old son.

The crossing from England was difficult on her. She'd never been on a ship before, much less seen one. The first few days of the voyage she spent retching, the next few days she was weakened and ill. Young Cutler came in and taunted her at first and then sobered when he realized how ill suited to sea life she was.

"Why don't you come out of bed and up on deck? Fresh air will do you good." He said one day when she awoke.

Isabelle shook her head. She could hear over a hundred different thoughts bounding through her head and as many feelings battered at her soul. She had a splitting head ache and between the roll of the sea and noise between her ears, she was not in any condition to be on her feet. This was worse than Bedlam to her. She'd at least been able to beg her way into a solitary cell….on a ship there was no escape.

She was given mild teas at first and eventually everyone left her alone. One day she awoke to see a dark skinned man sitting in her cabin.

"How do you feel child?"

"Tired."

"Tired?" The man's brow furrowed beneath his turban. "You have done nothing for which to be tired."

"You wouldn't understand." Isabelle said rubbing her eyes.

"_Wouldn't I?"_ Isabelle looked up at the man. His lips hadn't moved, yet she distinctly heard his voice in her head. It had been channeled into her mind, it wasn't a stray thought that she had just picked up at random.

"How did you do that?"

"Because, I do understand you. I understand all to well." The man smiled and leaned towards her. "If I teach you to control your gift, will you promise to get up, and help Lord Beckett?"

Isabelle was silent for a moment, weighing her options. It seemed to her she had little option in the prospect of helping Lord Beckett…if she got an occasional meal and a dress out of it, it would have been fine, but with her getting the ability to control her gift….then she was coming out far ahead of the game.

"Yes."

"Don't say it….think it….transport it to my mind."

Isabelle stared at the man long and hard and concentrated on the word 'yes' as if every fiber of her being depended on it.

"Not so hard, I'm right here….no need to shout!" The man said holding up his hands. "Come…get some air."

* * *

The next few weeks the man helped Isabelle focus. He taught her to see beyond things as things, but to see every minute detail.

"Kapil, the waters have changed color…they're bluer!" She said one day, standing on tiptoe to see up over the rail. "They aren't so gray anymore."

"You're right…we near our end destination." He said coming to stand beside her. He smiled down at her and waited to see the dark line of land that was his home.

* * *

Kapil was her mentor for the next ten years of her life. He taught her many things, not only about her gift, but about how to use it, to control it, and how to shutter it. India was more her home than England had ever been. She loved every minute of her time in the tropic country. Cutler eventually warmed to her, and the two became like brother and sister.

At first she didn't quite understand what she was doing for Lord Beckett, but any confusion she may have had was instantly washed away when she realized how much Lord Beckett provided her.

A tear came to her eye as she remembered Kapil and the former Lord Beckett. She looked towards the stern of the ship where she knew Cutler was sitting. He was angry; she felt the ship shudder with his wrath, but at the moment she was just as angry with him. He had changed, and she didn't like it at all. She turned her attention back to the sea beyond and thought back to warm and fragrant India.

She remembered the first time she had actually done any real work for Lord Beckett. She had been nine and over eager for a real assignment from him. The measly spying she'd done for Beckett at small buyers meetings was all well and good, but Kapil had always been present. Beckett, who'd grown fond of her and thought of her as his own daughter, was reluctant, but slowly agreed. He'd had her sit in a large wing backed chair facing the hearth away from the business table. She was invisible from that position. At first she felt nothing, the men talked about things she didn't understand. Then things began to get heated as business matters began to escalate. As voices rose she was repeatedly engulfed in a swirling mass of flame and near unbearable heat. She held her breath and shut her eyes against the swirling mass of heat and fire, trying as Kapil had taught her to shutter out the anger. An hour later the men left and she was left weakened by the experience. Lord Beckett knelt before the big chair and stared into her pale face and wide eyes.

"Isabelle?"

"They're all honest men. They want the fair prices for their goods….." Her voice was barely a whisper and it was as if she was too weak to even move her jaw or her eyes. She finally pulled her eyes from the gently floating curtain and focused on Lord Beckett. "None of them are cheating you."

"Are you alright?"

"I feel tired." Lord Beckett swept the girl up and carried her to her room where she slept for the rest of the day. When she woke up, Cutler was sitting on the edge of her bed staring at her.

"Father said you might want something to eat."

"No, thank you." Isabelle said as she slowly sat up. "I don't feel much like eating right now."

"What happened?"

"Has your father never told you what it is I can do?"

"What you can do? You're only a slip of a girl….what can you possibly do?"

"Nothing…never mind…." The tension between Cutler and Isabelle could have been cut with a knife that night. Fortunately a maid came in and forced Cutler out and made Isabelle go back to bed.

There was still a lot for Isabelle to learn, and she took her chance to go to Kapil's house in the village and learn from him what she could. One day, on returning from Kapil's she found several trunks stacked in the foyer.

"What's going on?" Isabelle asked the first footman she saw.

"We're getting Master Cutler ready for school. He's to go to England for his education."

Cutler left India bound for gloomy old England. He was cold towards her when he left; something she'd felt for some time from him. Lord Beckett did not let her linger on being lonely though, and kept her hard at work. For the next six years Cutler was absent from India. She had just turned sixteen when he returned home. No expense was spared on the lavish party to welcome Lord Beckett's only son home from school. In six years, Isabelle had gone from an ungainly, scared child, to a blossoming beauty. She was smart, and knew when to keep things to herself. Lord Beckett was very proud of her and Cutler knew it.

"Mister Bellowes is skimming from you." Isabelle told Lord Beckett. "He takes just enough to be considered 'damaged' on the books and you and the Company are none the wiser."

Lord Beckett looked at her and smiled slowly.

"You've come a very long way Isabelle."

"Sir?"

"When I found you, you were a scared little girl in a gloomy dirty cell."

"I remember sir." She didn't particularly care to dwell on her dark past.

"And now look at you! Attending meetings for one of the largest trade organizations in the world, telling me who is cheating me. You're a beautiful young woman who is in control of every aspect of her being."

"Not a day goes by that I don't try to thank you, my Lord." Isaeblle said inclining her head. "This is but a small way I can repay you."

"Thank you Isabelle…you may go." Isabelle exited the library and saw Cutler standing at the bottom of the stairs. He seemed too pale…white linen shirt, white linen waistcoat, white breeches, white powdered wig. Compared to the sun kissed honey of Isabelle's complexion Cutler seemed to be a ghost.

* * *

Isabelle was sitting in Kapil's yard surrounded by his children. She laughed and played with the youngest, only two years old. The little girl had a head of dark silky hair and dark skin. Her teeth were little pearls in a happy mouth.

"She's beautiful Kapil. You and Muniya must be so proud."

"I am equally proud of all my children, but yes, Kiri is a beauty." He said leaning forward to take the little girl from Isabelle's arms. He smiled down into the warm doe eyes that reflected his own.

"Kapil…." The man looked away from his daughter and Isabelle looked away.

"What is it Isabelle? You are distracted today."

"Nothing."

"_You have grown strong in your gift, Isabelle, but you can't hide everything."_ Isabelle forced Kapil from her mind and glared at him.

"You have no right to do that."

"Then tell me what is bothering you." Kapil reached across the small tea table and grasped her hand.

"_Cutler."_ Isabelle looked around as if she were afraid someone was listening in.

"_What of him?"_

"_He frightens me. He's so cold after being in London."_

"_You remember London…it is cold there."_

"_No. He's cold. He stares at me so….I feel as if I'm in ice whenever he's near me."_

"You must be strong…you must block him out."

"I don't think I can."

"You have to." Kapil said staring intently at her. "You have to block him out if you are to be able to exist in this world."

* * *

Another shuddering burst of anger from beneath the decks pulled Isabelle from her reverie for the third time. Rolling her eyes she moved across the deck and went down to Cutler's brightly lit cabin at the stern of the ship.

"That's not good enough!" Cutler railed at someone, his voice carrying through the thin wood of the door. "I don't care if you have to hang out every stitch of fabric on this ship to make us go faster, just get us into Port Royal!"

"Aye sir." Isabelle slipped in as the man slipped out. Cutler looked up from his desk as Isabelle stood at the door.

"Where have you been? I could have used you."

"I was up on deck taking the air. It's rather crowded below decks."

"Crowded in your mind, you mean." He said grinning.

"No. I'm better than I used to be when I was younger." She watched as he rose from his ornate desk and strolled towards her.

"You were better when you were younger." He said grinning down at her. "Full of such fear….full of a desire to please…" He had closed the distance between them in the small cabin and he stood so close to Isabelle that she could feel his breath on her face.

"Cutler, stand back." He lashed out with such ferocity that she was knocked back both physically and mentally. He reached out and grasped her throat in his hand and hissed at her through clenched teeth.

"You will refer to me by my title and you will NOT tell me what to do!"

"Someone is coming…" Isabelle whispered, her eyes cold and distant. A soft knock on the door drew their attention and Cutler pushed her against the wall and went behind his desk before calling the intruder in.

"What is it!?" A young midshipman entered the cabin and stared at the irate Lord behind the huge desk.

"My Lord Beckett, we are nearing Port Royal, we have sighted land."

"Well, finally!" Cutler's anger abated and Isabelle sighed in relief. "How long before we are able to dock?"

"The Captain believes we shall put to port before tomorrow noon time."

"Very well, if that is the soonest we can put to port."

"Aye sir." Cutler dismissed the man with a wave of his hand and left just Isabelle standing in the cabin. Isabelle grasped the edge of her shawl and pulled it over her shoulders. Instinctively she knew that a storm was brewing, both within and without the cabin.

"Isabelle…." Cutler brought his steel blue eyes to meet her dark brown ones. "It is not my intention to be angry with you…."

"I know."

"I am just under a great deal of stress…you understand." Cutler flashed a lopsided grin, but Isabelle felt no warmth. She continued to stare at him stonily.

"Of course, Lord Beckett." She dipped a curtsy and turned to leave.

"You were not dismissed." The glacial tone in his voice brought Isabelle to a halt with her hand hovering over the door handle. Cutler came back to stand behind her and placed a hand gently upon her shoulder. "Why do you fear me so?"

"I don't fear you." His hand clasped down upon her shoulder harshly and she ground her teeth against the pressure of it.

"Lying is futile Isabelle. You know it is…" Isabelle chose to remain silent as she felt Cutler's breath ghost across her neck. "Tell me…what am I thinking now?"

"Please…don't do this…" Isabelle turned quickly and looked up into Lord Beckett's icy eyes. "Please excuse me. I have to go prepare to put in to port." Cutler backed away and glared at her through narrow eyes.

"Yes. Go." He dismissed her with the same wave of his hand as he had the midshipman and she made a quick exit to her own small cabin.


	2. Entering Port Royale

Their entrance in to Port Royale was slow. A storm had rolled in and a light rain dappled the near black waters of the harbor. Several merchant ships bobbed in the deep waters of the port. Cutler smiled. Port Royale was going to be a gold mine for the company and thereby for him. Isabelle came up on decks wrapped in a Kashmir traveling cloak and stared out the small port city with its large manor houses and small shanty houses tucked close to the tide line.

"Isabelle. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Well enough, thank you for asking my lord." Isabelle had been ill the evening before. The storm rocking the ship and the tight confines of the stale smelling cabin had conspired to make her head pound and her stomach flip about. Now that they were in the protection of the harbor, and with the promise of making landfall, her spirits were much lighter. "That's not the question you wanted to ask me though."

"What do you feel?" Cutler asked with a grin. "Can you get anything from this distance?"

"There's a sense of melancholy, but that could be because of the drab weather." Isabelle breathed deeply of the fresh rain coming down and the tang of the sea beneath them. "There is also a sense of festiveness…and nervousness." She turned her gaze to Cutler. "But that could be you…" Cutler smiled slightly and looked at her.

"I'm not nervous. Are you?"

"Of course not." Isabelle turned as the patter of horse hooves beat behind her. "What on earth…?"

"We picked him up two days ago. A splendid animal, don't you think?"

"I don't remember that…"

"You were ill, we never went fully into port to receive him, he was brought out to us."

"I see." Isabelle approached the big white stallion and stroked its velvet soft nose. It breathed against her palm and stamped impatiently against the decking of the ship. "I think he's impatient." Isabelle laughed as the horse nudged her shoulder. "As am I."

"That makes three of us." Cutler waited for the horse to be put into the barge that had been tethered to the side of their ship. "You are coming as well." It wasn't a question. His demand cut into her like a knife. Sometimes she didn't understand his foul moods and the way they could shift like the breeze or the tides. She nodded briefly and allowed one of the East India Trading Company agents to assist her onto the barge.

"Here you are miss." He brushed the wood of the seat and helped her sit down.

"Thank you." Isabelle watched as Cutler boarded the barge and mounted the big white stallion.

"To land, shall we?" The marines took up oars and began to pull against the tides towards land. As the flat bottomed vessel touched the sandy beach, Cutler took his heels to the stallion and took off up onto the sand. The horse pranced as it grew re-accustomed to solid land beneath its hooves and not the constant shifting of a wood decked ship.

"Follow along with the marines, Isabelle." Cutler ordered as he spurred the horse towards town and on to the high bluffs that guarded the harbor.

Isabelle followed behind slowly taking in the sights of Port Royale. It was a quaint town, silent and fearful. She watched as a small girl opened a shuttered window and peered out at the passing marines. Her mother was quick to sweep the child back and slam the window down. Isabelle moved on up the heights and into the fort. She saw another party of British Marines escorting a young man. He was finely dressed in dark clothes that were covered in rich embroidery. His dark eyes passed over her but did not see her. The marines escorted him to the top of the hill where other finely dressed people stood trying to get out of the deluge that had set itself upon the island. A young woman dressed in a gold gown rushed towards the man in black. She spoke softly to him, she said something that Isabelle couldn't hear amidst the pack of people and shocked gasps at seeing the dark young man handcuffed. Isabelle skirted the crowd and stood in one of the archways that looked out onto a green lawn covered in chairs. One look at the arrangement and at the veil loosely pinned into the girls sun bleached hair was all she needed to see to know that they had intruded upon a wedding. A piece of water logged sheet music blew in a gust of wind and slapped heavily against the hem of her traveling cloak. Cutler stood shrouded in his black cloak of waxed wool as he too took in the scene of wedding preparations. A commotion at the edge of the crowd drew her attention away from the wedding set up as well.

"How dare you! Stand your men down at once, do you hear me?"

"Governor Weatherby Swann, it has been too long." Cutler said with a well practiced flourish of his cape. Isabelle felt as if a ballast stone had been thrust upon her. With a sinking feeling she knew that Cutler had planned this meeting on purpose. The wedding was an unforeseen perk in his deranged little play.

"Cutler Becket?"

"It's Lord now…actually." Cutler said without really looking at the heavily wigged man.

"Lord or not, you have no reason and no authority to arrest this man." The governor pointed at the young man in manacles who stood tall and proud in front of the marines who had brought him here.

"In fact I do. Mr. Mercer!" Cutler extended his hand and his clerk, the hatchet faced Mr. Mercer stepped forward producing a folio that Isabelle had seen on Cutlers desk aboard the ship many times. He'd often poured over its contents with a self satisfied grin upon his face. "The warrant for the arrest of one William Turner" Cutler handed the document to the wigged man and stared at the bridal couple, the same self satisfied grin tugging impishly at his mouth.

"This warrant is for Elizabeth Swann…"

"Oh is it? That's annoying, my mistake. Arrest her." The marines heartlessly pulled the bride from the groom's shackled embrace and went about shackling her as well. The groom's anger burst out, but Isabelle did not stagger or fall back. He was in control of his temper and the full force of his wrath was directed towards Cutler. She could see it as one would watch an arrow leave a bow.

"On what charges?" The girl asked, her voice shrill with the shock of having her wedding day turned about so unexpectedly.  
"Aha! Here's the one for William Turner." Cutler handed a second warrant to the stunned governor and then reached into the folio for a third. "And I have another for a Mr. James Norrington. Is he present?"

"What are the charges?!?!?" The bride repeated, indignant that she should be ignored.

"Commodore Norrington resigned his commission some months ago." The governor said distractedly as he perused the two identical warrants he'd been given. Isabelle could understand his confusion. This day was to be a happy one. A day without state business. And now, his role as father was being over run by the need to go back into duties of state.

"I don't believe that's the answer to the question I asked." Cutler drawled as he turned to face the still shocked governor.

"Lord Beckett in the category of questions NOT answered…" The groom, Mr. Turner burst out. There was a resolve about these two, this Swann and Turner; a strength that flowed from one to the other. Isabelle admired it. She also admired the rebellious air that electrified the couple.

"We are under the jurisdiction of the Kings governor of Port Royale and you will tell us what we are charged with." The bride set her jaw as she glared icy daggers at Cutler. Isabelle shivered in spite of the fact that she was not in line with the glare.

"The charge… is conspiring to set free a man convicted of crimes against the crown and empire and condemned to death for which the.." Governor Swann's eyes nearly bulged out of his head and Isabelle feared the man might have stopped breathing.

"For which the punishment regrettably is also death." Cutler supplied. A gasp went around the crowd as word spread. "Perhaps you remember a certain pirate named Jack Sparrow."

Isabelle's head snapped to stare at Cutler but her attention did not remain there long.

"CAPTAIN!!!" The bridal couple snapped together.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow." The bride supplied.

"Captain Jack Sparrow. Yes, I thought you might." Cutler said looking from one to the other.

Isabelle looked back out to the area arranged for the wedding and over the cliff that looked out into the harbor where the ships of the Company gently rocked and was brought back to another time in her life.

* * *

Cutler had been in India only a few months when he started speaking of going back to England.

"Father, the East India Trading Company is growing and expanding. I won't be able to advance within the company unless I can further my education; excel over my competition. I can't do that from this place." Isabelle stood outside the big office doors, candle in hand as she was prepared to go to bed.

"But Cutler, something is to be said of learning the business from the inside, like any tradesman…"

"I am not to be a _tradesman_, father. I am to be a businessman, an entrepreneur. I will not be able to move through the company if I am to stay in this….this, jungle." Isabelle shivered. She could sense how Cutler was holding back; his anger held an icy fire that buffered against her soul.

"Cutler, you have only just returned to India….will you not give it a chance?"

"You know that what I speak of, what I wish for is right. I would love to stay…" _A lie._ Thought Isabelle. "but my future depends on it."

"Very well. I'll see what arrangements can be made." Isabelle scampered off to her room before she had a chance to be spotted.

Cutler did not warmed to the community and had become increasingly distant. One thing he seemed increasingly fascinated with were maps. His room was filled with maps and globes, sextants and compasses. He spent hours plotting out the gardens; bringing order and structure to what had once been overgrown jungles.

Along with the fanaticism to order and structure, Cutler carried himself with the importance and dignity of the English Lord he was born to be. Isabelle tried to be kind and warm to him, bringing him from the icy England winters into the warm Indian summers. At dinners, dressed in beautiful silks, her hair and skin perfumed and oiled, she was the very embodiment of India. Her smile seemed to reflect the sun even in the darkest of evening dinners. She was a gem in the Beckett household. But in spite of all of that, Cutler would not warm to her. His eyes were colder than an arctic ice flow, and he treated her with malice and disdain.

Isabelle was sitting in the garden one day when she felt Cutler's presence approach. She concentrated on her book and waited until the sound of his shoes crunched on the white stone walk behind her.

"Good Day Isabelle."

"Oh, Cutler! I didn't hear…"

"You didn't need to hear me. Don't play dumb."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can sense things can't you." Isabelle stood up and came towards where Cutler was standing.

"Sense things?" She smiled at him. "Cutler…really now."

"I said, don't play dumb." Isabelle could feel Cutler's anger building and her smile faded. "Years ago, you asked me if my father had told me what it is you do. I figured it out."

"You're crazy Cutler." He took a step towards her and Isabelle moved back. "Where would you get such an idea?"

"For years now, Isabelle, you've been attending meetings for the Company. For years now, you've been working for my father, how?"

"Your father adopted me…"

"He never would have adopted a stupid girl. He'd never allow a girl into Company meetings if she didn't have anything to offer him. My father isn't stupid."

"Your father is a kind and decent man. He cares about me! He saved me!"

"Then tell me, why did he save you? For what purpose were you saved?" Isabelle's skin crawled as he advanced on her. She found it difficult to breathe and felt as if she were going to swoon.

"Cutler please…"

"What is it you do for my father Isabelle?" The rage he was emitting reminded Isabelle of some of the rage she felt when she had been in Bedlam Asylum. She shuddered because it was hardly veiled. Even if Cutler did know what it was she could do, he did not know how sensitive she was to it. "TELL ME!" In Isabelle's mind, fire whipped out from Cutler and swirled about her. The force of it was so strong that she felt as if she were physically lifted from her feet and tossed backwards. She fell flat on her back and felt the air rush from her lungs as darkness engulfed her.

Cutler watched as Isabelle fell backwards over the bench and lay sprawled on the ground. The book she'd been reading lay open just beyond her hand and fluttered in the slight breeze coming off the river; golden hair swept across her face where it fell from the pins. He stood above her for a moment and took in the look of her. She looked vulnerable and weak; nothing that could possibly be of any use to him in his endeavor to take over the company. He left her where she fell and went back into the house.

Isabelle opened her eyes slowly and blinked up into the soft orange and pink sky of an early evening sunset. She took a deep breath and went to push herself up but felt a hand on her shoulder.

"I wouldn't be so quick to do that love." Isabelle turned her head towards the voice, but instantly regretted the action as her head felt split open. She felt a rough hand against her cheek and looked up into a tanned face and dark eyes that were unfamiliar to her. "I told you not to be doing that."

"Who are you?"

"Not important." His accent brought her back to Bedlam, something thick and lower class. He was unlike anyone she'd met while in India. "I think the more important question is, what's a beautiful young girl doing lying in the dirt?"

"What time is it?"

"You didn't answer my question." He said with a lopsided grin.

"I don't know how I ended up here….I was having an argument and must have tripped."

"An argument wiff who? Yourself?"

"No." She turned her head away from him trying to keep control of her being. Her head was spinning and throbbing at the same time. She felt as if she had a monsoon between her ears. "Who are you? How did you come to be here?" She asked thickly.

"I was walking along the river…looking for something you might say."

"For what?"

"I don't know, I figure I'll know it when I see it." The man grinned lasciviously at her showing several gold teeth.

"Who are you? What reason would you have for being in our garden?" She said trying to sit up again.

"I told you, I'm looking for something, and my name is Jack Sparrow, Captain Jack Sparrow to be exact." He held a hand behind her shoulders as she fell weakly back to the ground with the force of the spinning behind her eyes.

"Well Captain Sparrow, it was very kind of you to stop and help. I am in your debt…"

"Isabelle!? Where are you?" She heard Lord Beckett and another one of the servants calling for her in the garden.

"You have to leave….you can't be seen here…." Isabelle remained on the flat of her back and watched as Captain Sparrow looked towards the garden.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Isabelle. We will meet again." Isabelle closed her eyes and it seemed to her that Jack was gone only moments before her vision was filled with the sight of Lord Beckett. The servant scooped her from the gravel and carried her inside all the while Lord Beckett issued orders for her care.

* * *

Isabelle was pulled from her reverie as William Turner and Elizabeth Swann were taken to the prison to be locked in separate cells. Cutler stood, incredibly happy with himself. The crowd slowly dissipated and moved away, not really knowing what to think of the events that had unfolded before them. Had they not witnessed it, they would never have believed what happened. As the crowd thinned, Cutler suddenly became aware of her presence.

"Oh, Isabelle, there you are. What did you think?"

"Would you like my honest opinion?"

"Of course…"

"I think your timing is despicable and that they did not deserve such treatment. Cutler, it was their wedding day!" Isabelle said striding forward. "Could you not have at least waited a few days and incarcerated them in private?"

"Isabelle I think you forget your place. And how many times must I remind you of the respect you must accord me and my title."

"Well, I'm sorry your Lordship, but you asked for my honest opinion…" He turned angry blue gray eyes on her and she shuddered a bit. Any of the anger she might have felt at him for his actions was instantly washed away by the overwhelming power of his rage at her.

"No more of your opinions, they weary me." Cutler said dismissively. "I require a report on the state of the town. What did you find when you came up with the marines?"

"The town is afraid of what is happening. Their world has recently been turned upside down. They'll find it even more askew within the hour as news of this latest scandal reaches them." Cutler smiled. "That is how you wanted it, is it not?"

"Yes, actually." Cutler nodded and reached for his cloak. "Very well, I have business to attend to. If you wouldn't mind, Isabelle, I would like your assistance." He moved off without waiting for her reply. It hadn't been a request, but an order.

Cutler moved off to where the horse was standing at the hands of a groom in the street. A carriage had been brought up for Isabelle's use. She followed along though she did not like it.


	3. Just Good Business

It had been two days. Isabelle had been busy arranging the staff of the house she shared with Lord Beckett. She and Cutler were also busy at the newly built East India Trading Company Port Royale Head quarters. She stood in the large office and stared at the room sized map that the old cartographer, Mr. Ames was carefully painting. Cutler and Mr. Mercer were busy talking with one another and left her to her own devices. She heard the sound of someone clomping down the hall. She knew that was her cue and she moved slowly to the wing backed chairs that stood beside the fire. These were the same chairs that Cutler's father had used in his office. As Isabelle sat in the chair to the right of the fire place the scents of India wafted from it. She smelled Lord Beckett's India office and spices and sun. The sound of chains brought her out of the all too brief reverie.

"Lord Beckett, the prisoner as ordered, sir"

"Those won't be necessary." Cutler said as he motioned to the marine. Isabelle heard the sound of the shackles being removed from Mr. Turner's wrists. He strolled slowly and purposefully to the place where Cutler stood beside a side board pouring out brandy.

"The east India trading company has need of your services." Isabelle peeked around the wing of the chair and chanced to see Mr. Turner glare stonily at Cutler, who was offering him brandy in a fine crystal snifter. When he would not take it, Cutler set the glass heavily upon the tray and continued on, ignoring the slight. "We wish for you to act as an agent in a business transaction with our mutual friend Captain Sparrow." Cutler had approached the fire place and stared down into the fire; an unseasonable luxury in the tropical heat. Isabelle stared at his back.

"More an acquaintance than a friend. How do you know him?" Mr. Turner asked.

"We've had dealings in the past, and we've each left our mark on the other." Cutler had pulled an iron poker from the fire and stared at the red hot end which was in the shape of a letter P. Isabelle gasped softly at the sight of the poker. She knew it all too well and remembered too vividly its first use.

* * *

Lord Beckett had left India to deal with the damage done by drought and by pirates and also to prepare the arrangements for Cutler's return to university. On his departure, he had left Cutler and Isabelle in India, knowing that there was nothing for them to do in England and requiring someone continue to manage local company business while he was away. It didn't take long after that for Cutler to assert his rule over their little corner of India. He issued new laws stating curfews and taxes levied at the ports. Anyone caught trading something not stamped with the Company symbol was arrested. That is how she found herself sprinting to the local jail shortly before her sixteenth birthday. The bailiff stopped her at the door.

"Miss Beckett…how kind of you to visit."

"I am not here on a social call, I'm here to contest an erroneous arrest."

"Ma'am?"

"I must speak with Kapil Gahmsumji….he's a friend of mine."

"Miss, I'm not sure Lord Beckett would appreciate you frequenting with a known convict."

"Kapil would not be a convict if Lord Beckett were here."

It took her another day and her cowing a deputy while the bailiff was gone to lunch to gain entrance. She rushed to the overcrowded cell where Kapil sat with other innocent men.

"Kapil?"

"Isabelle, what are you doing here?"

"I came to get you out." Isabelle reached through the bars and grasped the man's hand. "I won't let Cutler keep you in here."

"There's not much that can be done for me. But I do have a favor to ask."

"Kapil..." Isabelle started, but Kapil cut her off.

"Listen girl! I have to ask you to protect Muniya and the children. I fear for them…"

"Why? I'll talk to Cutler, I'll make him understand…"

Kapil flashed a vision of a gallows and an indiscriminant line of citizens marching up towards it. It was a chilling thought.

"Protect them, please?"

"I will if I have to, but I'm going to get you out of here." The sound of dogs barking outside in the street alerted her to the sheriff's return and she quickly made an exit before she was seen or over heard.

On returning to the house she felt that Cutler was extremely happy. The library door was open just a crack and she walked slowly as Cutler's voice drifted into the foyer.

"A Pirate Captain? What is his name?"

"A Captain Sparrow, sir." Isabelle froze outside the library door at the mention of the name. She remembered the mysterious dark eyed stranger from the day that she and Cutler had fought in the garden. That had been little more than two months ago.

"How was he caught?" Cutler asked. Isabelle's skin prickled, Cutler's mirth at another's plight was almost more than she could bear.

"Brought unstamped goods in to port and was distributing at market. We arrested him right away."

"Good. Very good." Isabelle could not believe it. If Captain Sparrow had been to sea, he would not know of the taxes Cutler had imposed, and there was another innocent man within the walls of the local jail.

She made a second trip to the jail bringing with her food and a message from Muniya for Kapil. Kapil was grateful for the kindness, but still warned her of the dangers coming. Both knew too well that Cutler's wrath was far reaching. In a short time Kapil had given her instructions on how to get Muniya and the children to his brother's village in the jungle. Isabelle shook her head as she left Kapil's cell. She was working on her own plan and felt sure that she would not need to work alone to spirit Muniya and the children away. She was going over her plan once more when she was grabbed through the bars of one of the cell doors. She almost shrieked save for the fact that the brown eyes peering at her were not filled with malevolence, but with a plea for help.

Brown eyes that she recognized.

"Captain Sparrow?"

"SO you do remember me."

"Of course. You helped me in the garden…"

"Well, now I'm in need of your help…I'll be calling in that debt you owe to me."

"I'd expect nothing less." Isabelle stared him down and he released her hand. "I'll be sure to bring you some better food when I return."

"Thank you."

Isabelle found herself at the jail much sooner than she originally planned for Cutler begged for her to join him on a carriage ride that afternoon.

"Where are we going?"

"I want you to witness something…momentous." The way he said it made her skin crawl and Isabelle wanted nothing more than to flee the carriage. They arrived shortly at the jail to see a crowd of villagers packed around the yard.

"Cutler?" Isabelle's breath caught as she saw Captain Sparrow lead from the jail. "What's going on?" The press of people in the street would not allow the carriage to move any farther forward and Cutler exited the coach and mounted the platform that had been hastily erected there.

"A certain Pirate Captain, one Jack Sparrow, was recently apprehended in this port trying to sell stolen goods. They were not stamped, they had not had the tax paid upon them and he was in league with a known crew of pirates." A gasp went around the crowd. "It is my decision, therefore, to have an example made of Captain Sparrow." Cutler nodded to the jailors who forced Sparrow to kneel and extended his arm across the table. "Any man who sails under a pirate flag or who is caught in league with pirates shall face the same punishment on his first offense. The punishment will, understandably, become much more severe if the offense is repeated." Cutler now reached for an iron poker which jutted from the brazier that stood at the end of the platform. The end glowed red hot in the afternoon light. Isabelle was transfixed on the glowing metal of the iron poker. She couldn't imagine what would happen next.

"You, Captain Jack Sparrow have been convicted of Piracy. Because this is your first offense, and because I am a lenient and kind man, your punishment will be light. Hold him fast, gentlemen." Cutler grasped the poker by the handle and thrust it into the exposed arm of the Pirate captain. Isabelle's hand flew to cover her face, the smell of burning hair and flesh filled the air and threatened to make her stomach heave. She looked away from the scene and drew the curtains down. She was terrified of Cutler, a feeling which was magnified by the fear that the local villagers were now feeling as well.

* * *

Isabelle had lost track of the conversation, only Cutler's disgust had pulled her from the terrifying scene replaying in her mind.

"Freedom." Cutler practically spat the word at Mr. Turner. "Jack Sparrow is a dying breed. The world is shrinking, the blank pages of the map filled in. Jack must find his place in the new world or perish. Not unlike you, Mister Turner. You and your fiancée face the hangman's noose."

They were now standing out on the balcony overlooking the busy docks in the East India Shipping yard. It hadn't taken long for Cutler to commandeer the best docks of the city for use by the company. Isabelle strained to hear the rest of their conversation but to no avail. She concentrated instead on the feelings and images impressed upon her unwittingly by Mr. Turner. She witnessed, from his perspective, his rescue of Jack Sparrow, of first meeting the pirate, and of coming to respect him. She also saw Elizabeth as a young child, and how she had blossomed from a freckle faced antagonizing youth into a beautiful and well bred woman, if still a bit antagonizing and strong willed. She felt the love he felt for her. Will left the room and Cutler approached the fire place once again.

"Well, will he do as asked?"

"His love for Elizabeth out weighs any loyalty he might have for Captain Sparrow." Isabelle said. "He'll do as you command if only because what you hold is dearer to him than life itself."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm never sure of anything, Cutler, you know that." Cutler was suddenly towering over her, pinning her into the chair.

"Listen to me well, Isabelle. My father might have tolerated your mouth, your stupid riddles and your lack of respect, but I will not be so tolerant!" Cutler hissed. He lowered his head so that his mouth came very near her ear. "If you do not remember your place, then I will be forced to show it to you, and I can honestly say that though it will bring me great joy, you will be so otherwise occupied that you will not get a sense of that joy through all the agony I will cause you." He backed away from her and moved back to where Mr. Mercer still stood holding a shipping manifest. Isabelle slowly rose from her spot and tried to keep her knees from shaking.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to have caused you anger, _my Lord_. If it pleases you I shall…"

"Get out. I shall call for you if I am in need of you."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for all the positive reviews. I really appreciate the feed back. I really hope to be able to put up a chapter every few days or so. Please be patient. The story is all plotted out in my head, it just hasn't quite made it from brain to computer yet, so it might take a while. Again, thanks for the reviews!!!


	4. A Marked Man

Isabelle made a hasty retreat for the door and dashed up the corridor and out the front of the office. The sunlit courtyard outside was quiet and the sound of tropical birds trilled sharply in the distance. She could hear a ship's bell clang in the harbor, carried to her on the gentle breeze that entered Port Royal.

Cutler didn't care who he hurt as long as he got what he wanted. She didn't know where he'd gotten the lust for power, but she knew it hadn't come from his father. Not completely anyway. Isabelle hugged her shawl tighter to herself as she walked towards the narrow stretch of beach at the end of the street. She took the overgrown path down to its rocky shore and bent down at the edge of where the waves lapped up to meet the beach, bashing tiny pebbles into fine sand. She picked up a few shells that had been washed clean of grit. The hem of her dress was soaked, as were the tasseled ends of her silk shawl, but she didn't care. She was absorbed in the simple patterns of peach and white on the shells in her hand. She rolled a thick, tightly curled white one in her palm and relished in the cool, smooth feel of it against her fingertips. The feel of the shells calmed her and soothed the angst that Cutler had fostered within her. She rose to her full height and inhaled deeply of the tangy air. Light glinted off the small waves and Isabelle felt her spirits lighten as the harbor turned from gray to blue in the brightening light. She had to squint to make out the ships sitting at the harbor mouth--captains refusing to unload their goods to be taxed by the Company.

She looked back to the shells in her hand and thought of the fate that those captains might face if they were apprehended selling their cargoes elsewhere….

* * *

Isabelle had snuck out of the manor house late in the evening. Her absence would not be noticed. Cutler was celebrating his triumph over piracy and the village with some of the other lords and businessmen from the area. She heard a hearty laugh from the parlor as she slipped out the side door. She might sit in on meetings and deal in affairs a woman had no business in, she might have the Sight, but she would never understand the world of men and the currency in which they dealt most; Pain and suffering of others. 

She moved into the jail and threw her hood back.

"Miss Beckett!" The sheriff had leapt to his feet as she came in to his small office. "It is late."

"Has the doctor been to see Captain Sparrow?" She had demanded. The sheriff shook his head.

"No ma'am."

"Well, Master Cutler does not want him to die of infection. He wants him to be an example to others. Let me see him."

"Miss…"

"You impudent swine…if Captain Sparrow dies on your watch you'll be on the street faster than you could blink. Lord Beckett will have you hanged for mistreatment of prisoners, and Cutler…well, he'll probably use you as an example to replace the one he'd lost in Captain Sparrow." The jailors eyes grew wide and he quickly moved down the hall, scrambling to find the key that would admit her to Jack's cell.

"Do you require anything else of me?" The fear in the man was revolting and Isabelle could smell it coming off him in waves. It was worse than the stench of his sweat that clung to his clothes.

"A bucket of clean water, can you manage that?"

"Aye miss." The man had disappeared and left her in the cell. When she entered the dingy space she found Jack propped into the corner, precisely where the deputies had tossed him after his ordeal with Cutler. Isabelle knelt beside him and felt his brow for fever. He was warm, but not unnaturally so. His arm was an angry red and it blistered back from the spot of the burn. The letter P was clearly outlined in black against his dark skin where it had seared his flesh. The door opened again and the jailor set a water bucket beside her. He had left soon after, going back to the meal on his desk and not wanting to catch the sharp side of her tongue again. Isabelle reached into the basket she'd brought with her. Muniya had helped her with it earlier when Isabelle had rushed to tell her of the days' events and of her plan to help Kapil. It contained food, bandages, salves and herbs to battle fever and infection. She pulled out a clean cloth and dipped it in the bucket of water beside her. Wringing it out she reached out for the captains arm but felt her wrist caught up in his surprisingly strong grasp.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help."

"Well unless you plan on spiriting me away in that basket, which I highly doubt, I think there's little you can do for me." He said opening his eyes slightly and glancing at the small basket she'd brought with her.

"Let go of my wrist and let me clean up your arm, or would you prefer to lose it?" Their dark eyes met for an instant and he slowly released her wrist. "This is going to sting." She shuddered as he ground his teeth against the searing pain of the contact of fabric to the burn. It was all she could do to deflect the pain he was feeling from herself. She had not packed enough rags and was left with nothing to bandage his arm after she had cleaned all the blood and pus from it. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her own silk kerchief with which to cover the brand. Through out the whole procedure Jack Sparrow had not uttered a word. She sat back and looked at him as he looked down at the lace trimmed bandage that was tied about his forearm.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I feel you are wrongly accused, and I owe you a debt of gratitude."

"I'd prefer it if you'd get me out of here and had not have mended me."

"I plan on getting you out as well. Treating your ills is mere Christian kindness."

"Christian kindness—they bestow that on Pirates now?"

"Most don't, but then I don't practice the same sort of Christian kindness the rest of the world does. If they found out what I am, they'd practice their kindness on me and I'd prefer that not happen."

"'What you are?' And what, besides a stunning young woman, might that be?" Isabelle stood and looked down at Jack.

"I'll return in a few days to check on your arm. Try not to scratch at it. If it starts to hurt, rub this on it." She tossed him a bottle of salve and turned promptly on her heel calling to the jailer to let her out.

Two days later she'd returned to the jail, this time with permission from Cutler. He wanted to know how Captain Sparrow was fairing, but did not want to go himself. He sent Isabelle, knowing it would not look strange for her to arrive issuing 'kindness' from the heart of a woman. Little did he know that she'd already been on such a mission.

Jack's arm was healing well, though the brand still bled and pussed, it was not infected and that's what had concerned them both.

"So what's your master scheme for getting me out?" Jack whispered as she rubbed a rather pungent salve into the skin around the bandage.

"I think it is best you not mention such things, Captain Sparrow." She handed the dark eyed man another jar of salve and stared at where his hand grasped it, but she didn't let go. "I also think it would be best if you applied this after dark tonight." He squinted up at her but she was gone again in an instant.

Isabelle had brought a similar jar to Kapil. Both jars contained messages that outlined the plan and told the readers to be discreet. Considering the jailer could not read, the risk of him knowing what was going on was slim.

The plan had come together with Muniya's help. Kapil's brother and a few of his guerilla friends had come into the town and had been hiding at Muniya's. On the planned night of escape, they would set several fires around the city--enough to damage property and to cause havoc. Whilst the men folk were otherwise engaged, two of the guerilla's would go to the jail an release the prisoners. Muniya and Kapil would then disappear with several of the other families into the jungle and out of Cutler's clutches. It was a perfect plan because though it was Isabelle's idea, Isabelle could never be implicated in it.

The evening of the escape, Isabelle played her part perfectly. A dull roar in her ears told her that there was danger in the town. She knew that the fires had been lit and that the plan had begun.

"Is something wrong, Isabelle?"

"No, merely a headache." Isabelle drank her wine and watched Cutler out of the corner of her eye.

"A _special_ headache?"

"Special? I don't think so. There's no such thing as _special_ head aches, Cutler."

"Hmm…" Before Cutler could utter a rebuttal, a liveried attendant burst in the room with the news that several warehouses had been fired as well as several homes in town. Cutler leapt from the table and left the dining room to issue orders and to see the damage that had been done. Isabelle followed behind listening to every word with the appropriate expression of shock plastered on her face.

"Isabelle, I want you to go to the jail."

"What?!" Now Isabelle wasn't play acting. She was most definitely shocked.

"I need all the men from the house in town to put out fires." Cutler said shrugging into his coat. "You'll not be safe here. Go to the jail. Mr. Gross will keep you safe."

"But Cutler…"

"Isabelle, do as I say!" Isabelle grabbed her shawl and rushed down the roads and through the congested streets. She thought momentarily about running into the woods and hiding, but then decided that everything would go wrong. She could at least release the prisoners if she could overpower or trick the jailer. Isabelle rushed into the jail and found it deserted. The jailer and his deputies were gone, already having left to fight the fires in town, never thinking that their charges might chance to escape. Isabelle quickly snatched up the ring of keys and set to work opening the cell doors. She was half way through when the two men who had been sent to over power the jail finally arrived.

"Isabelle…you should not be here!" Kapil said as the prisoners rushed out around him. Isabelle fumbled with the keys and set to work on the next door while Kapil continued to follow her.

"I know that, but Cutler sent me here." She walked with Kapil to the front door of the jail. "You have to hurry, your family is waiting!" Kapil grabbed her arm as she turned to go back into the jail.

"Do not release that man."

"I have to."

"No you don't. He is a pirate. Let him rot!"

"_I won't. I promised, now go!" _The force of her mental outburst thrust Kapil into the street and into the stream of people fleeing the conflagration in the town. She turned quickly and unlocked Captain Sparrow's solitary cell. He looked up as she waved him out of the room. "Hurry! Someone is sure to realize what's going on." Jack brushed past her and into the anteroom where his effects were on top of the jailer's desk. He strapped on his sword belt and tucked two heavy pistols into the sash that was knotted around his waist. He locked eyes with her and she nodded. "Now, your ship was the _Eastern Empress_ wasn't it?"

"No. My ship was the _Wicked Wench_. Young Mr. Lord of the Town took it to himself to burn her to the depths of the sea. I'm just with the _Eastern Empress _because she just happened to be in the area."

Isabelle shook her head while she absorbed all the information Captain Sparrow had just divulged. "Be that as it may, she's docked closest to the harbor; Cutler was planning on re-fitting her. You won't have trouble getting aboard but you might have trouble getting to sea."

"No I won't. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?" He said extending his arms and smiling broadly. Isabelle nodded and then looked out into the street.

"There's no one coming…the coast is clear."

"Good." The dark eyed captain suddenly grasped her arm in a tight grip and marched her into the darkness.

"What are you doing? Unhand me!"

"I think not, love. You're going to be my insurance that keeps that psychotic maniac from doing me and mine any more harm." Isabelle tried to pull away from Sparrow but his grip was firm on her arm. They stuck to the shadows at first, but then Sparrow marched her down the streets openly. Few turned their gaze from the chaos happening in their own worlds which had been turned upside down. Isabelle stopped struggling and Jack Sparrow's grip on her loosened. "There now, that's better. I don't want to hurt you."

"You will if it suits you though."

"I hope it doesn't suit me." Isabelle glanced over her shoulder and glanced into Jack's dark eyes. She knew it was true, but she also knew he wouldn't hesitate to hurt someone if it meant staying alive.

As they neared the harbor she heard Cutler's voice ring out into the night.

"Stop right there, Sparrow!" Jack stopped and turned his back on the dock, placing Isabelle between him and Cutler, his cutlass instantly at her throat.

"And why exactly would I be wanting to do that?" Isabelle could hear the smile in his voice as he glowered at Cutler from over her shoulder. "Seems to me I have the bargaining tool right here."

"What do you think you're doing?" She hissed at him as his grip again tightened on her arm.

"Getting out of here alive." Jack whispered back.

"She means nothing." Cutlers words cut into her and she stopped paying attention to Jack.

"Cutler!"

"Oh I think she means a deal to you or you would have fired already."

"What makes you think I won't?" Cutler's men were following Jack's deliberate movements up the dock, staying just out of pistol range.

The next few moments happened so fast that Isabelle was still not quite sure what had transpired on those docks that long ago evening. Cutler had approached faster as it became apparent that Sparrow intended on boarding the ship. Cutler had drawn his saber and advanced within range of Isabelle and Jack. He had attacked in an overhead hacking swing that left him far too open. Jack had swung Isabelle out of the way and sent her skidding across the dock planks and nearly into the harbor while simultaneously bringing his own cutlass down across Cutler's chest. Isabelle screamed and scrambled to Cutler's side as Jack disappeared into the darkness above her with one final admonition.

"Just business mate!" And he was gone.

* * *

She looked down at her hands now, where she still clutched the shells and polished stones of the Caribbean beach and thought back to the night that they'd been stained with Cutler's blood. She had tried to staunch the flow with her own shawl and had screamed for help from Cutler's soldiers. Jack had been forgotten. The crew of the _Eastern Empress_ had arrived at the ship before Jack, having heard word from him that he would be escaping that night and they had lowered a rope to him and hauled him aboard as the ship pulled slowly away from the dock. 

That had been close to eleven years ago. Cutler still bore the horrible scar across his chest from his brief encounter with Sparrow while Sparrow bore the East India Trading Company brand of a Pirate.

Isabelle let the shells trickle from her hand and splash into the waves as they lapped at her feet. Cutler would be leaving the offices soon and if she were late for the evening meal he would be greatly displeased. His wrath was something she could not take---not now---not ever.


	5. Crime and Punishment

Isabelle sat at the table and listened idly as Cutler continued to do business. It was a development that Isabelle was still trying to grow accustomed to. The previous Lord Beckett had done no business while at table, claiming it gave him indigestion and was a nuisance and a disruption to family time. Cutler believed that every waking moment was supposed to be used for business.

"If those ships in the harbor aren't gone by tomorrow evening, have Mr. Gillett go out and sink them where they sit. If the captains will not come into port to treat, then they must get out of the way. I'll not allow them to hinder Company business."

"Yes M'Lord." Mr. Mercer stood staring at the wall opposite him as if looking at a particularly interesting piece of art. He had been part of the Royal Highland Guard and his military baring had never left him. Isabelle knew he had learned many tricks in the course of a lifetime of travels and mercenary work. The man was now a most successful and trained assassin. His thoughts occasionally strayed to his past misdeeds and she disliked what she saw. The man made her nervous.

"Mercer, have you anything regarding what we spoke about yesterday?"

"Aye sir. My informant tells me the governor has been casting a wide net. We'll know soon." Isabelle looked up as Cutler and Mr. Mercer's eyes settled on her. She glanced at them both and folded her napkin in her lap.

"Tell me then, how am I to help in this?"

"You aren't. Not yet anyway." Cutler glared at Mercer and the Scot left the room. Isabelle was plunged into silence as Cutler refused to acknowledge her existence for the duration of the meal.

* * *

Three days later Isabelle was wandering the market place as part of an inspection trip. They talked to the agents and the captains as wares were put on display. Isabelle knew that very few of them were excited to see Cutler on the streets. One in particular was very nervous. The feeling of it rolled off the man like a stench and Isabelle had to walk away.

"You sensed something."

"He's nervous. Is he a suspected smuggler?"

"Aye, he's a smuggler of something more valuable than foodstuffs and trinkets."

"Pirate treasure?" Isabelle said with a grin. "My Lord Beckett I didn't think you believed those stories any more."

"Oh, it's not a Pirate's treasure….not really anyway." Isabelle could get nothing more out of him, but saw an image of the jail and a young woman sitting in a bare cell. Isabelle made no move to talk about what she'd seen but hoped to find a way to help Elizabeth Swann.

* * *

Isabelle stood across from the entry way to the jail. Mercer had come to supper and spoken quietly with Cutler, but Isabelle knew what they were talking about. Governor Swann had finally secured safe passage for his daughter and he planned to break her out of jail. Isabelle had waited until Cutler had left the house with Mercer and then had left the house herself and now she found herself skulking in the shadows of the jail, prepared to help in the second jail break of her life. She waited as a coach pulled up and came to a stop outside the jail, the horses stomping and snorting impatiently.

"I'll be right back." The governor moved across the courtyard of the fort and disappeared. Isabelle snuck quietly up to the coach and waited in the shadows for the sound of the door to open on the other side.

It didn't take long before the Governor and his daughter came rushing from the jail and made a dash for the coach. As the governor handed his daughter up into the coach, Isabelle leapt in from the other side.

"Who are you?" Elizabeth asked as Isabelle settled herself into the seat across from her.

"Keep your voice down, I'm a friend."

"Why should I believe you?" Isabelle settled her cold eyes on Elizabeth.

"Because you don't have the luxury not to." Isabelle said calmly. "Now, if you want to live to see the sun rise tomorrow, you'll listen to everything I have to tell you, and you'll act on it." Elizabeth sat quietly as Isabelle told her of how Mercer and Cutler knew of her escape and how Mercer was planning on stopping her.

"Then what should I do?"

"Lord Beckett has the papers in his office. You can take them and put your name on them. He's got them signed already."

"But what about Will?"

"That I don't know." Isabelle looked out the window as the city streamed by. "But we don't have a lot of time, we're almost to the waterfront."

"I should tell my father…."

"No! His plan is seconds from collapsing before his eyes. You are in grave danger if you stay here much longer."

Elizabeth glanced up at the top of the coach where her father sat perched beside the driver.

"Miss Swann!? You don't have time to warn him….I'm sorry, but you have to act now."

"Where is the pardon?" Elizabeth asked.

"In a box on Cutler's desk, his office is at the top of the stairs facing the waterfront. Now take this and do what you must, I only hope you can save yourself and Mr. Turner." Isabelle handed a pistol to Elizabeth and waited for the carriage to slow as it maneuvered a tricky turn. Isabelle opened the door wide and carefully lowered herself to the ground and ran beside the coach for a number of paces before releasing her grip on the door. Elizabeth did the same and glanced back at Isabelle.

"Thank you."

"Just go!" Isabelle threw her hood up over her head and rushed to get back to the manor house before she was found to be missing. She had only gone a few blocks when the air around her shuddered. She froze beside a dark alley and clutched at the cold brick walls, eyes wide and deeply black as the vision of what was occurring danced before her. She saw Mercer step away from a dead man and approach the carriage she'd only just exited. Governor Swann was detained by Company marines and Mercer took great satisfaction in practically ripping the coach door from its hinges. He was prepared to kill whoever he found inside. Isabelle laughed softly as a look of complete consternation came over his face at seeing the empty coach. She continued to laugh softly in the darkness, clutching the wall with tears slipping softly down her face. She'd done it. Now it was up to Elizabeth.

It took her several moments to regain her strength and senses and to continue her way up to her home where she fell gratefully into bed, completely exhausted.

* * *

She slept late the next morning and rose only when the sun had crept most of the way across her floor. She dressed simply and went downstairs to find the house empty. The major domo brought her letters to her while she took tea in the parlor. The top missive was from Cutler.

"_You are needed at the offices immediately."_

It was not signed, but Cutler's handwriting was unmistakable.

"When did this letter come?"

"Not twenty minutes ago, miss." The man answered.

"Have Violet meet me upstairs promptly. I'll need her help."

"Yes ma'am." The man left the room to fetch the maid that helped with Isabelle's hair and wardrobe. Isabelle casually looked over the remainder of the letters but saw nothing of import or interest. Mostly just cards begging her to attend some frivolous tea or another. Letters from people trying to get in her good graces thinking that by doing so they'd also be in Cutler's benevolent light. She went upstairs quickly and changed into a gown more suitable to be in at the offices. Violet helped pin her hair up into a half bun, the remainder of her long blonde hair hung down her back in large soft curls that swayed across her back. The Indian calico of her gown, illegal though it was now, was vibrant with the multi-hued birds and flowers of the tropics. She and Cutler were permitted the illegal fabrics because they'd owned them prior to the ban. She checked herself in the mirror one last time to be sure that she looked presentable and then swept from the house and up into the carriage that had been called up for her use.

When she arrived at the offices things were calm. Calmer than she thought they ought to be. She moved up the stairs and knocked softly at Cutler's office door.

"Enter!" Isabelle came in and dipped a curtsy to Cutler and nodded to Mercer and the half dozen other men in the room.

"Ah, Isabelle! So good of you to come, I expected you much later."

"I was awake, and your message said immediately, my Lord."

"That it did." Cutler smiled his indulgent smile at her. "I will conclude the business with these gentlemen and then you and I must talk."

Isabelle stood by and listened idly. They were discussing the building of a new ship; a sleek, fast and heavy ship that would become the power and the force in the waters of the Caribbean. The builders were shocked and elated. The ship that Cutler spoke of would be the biggest their yard had yet built. The _Dauntless _and the _Interceptor_ had been the pride of the British Navy in the Caribbean, but both had been built in the English shipping yards. The lesser ships in the Caribbean fleet were either commandeered from pirates, merchants, or were built and commissioned by local ship builders such as the ones that now stood in Cutler's office. These men were thinking big and were already creating lists of the materials they'd need to equip the ship as Cutler was detailing.

"Can you manage?"

"Aye sir. It might take some time, but I believe we will be able to construct such a thing."

"Do it quickly. I need that ship as soon as is possible. Sooner than possible, actually."

"We'll get to work laying the keel within the week, My Lord." The other ship builder said. The men were dismissed with a wave of Cutler's hand.

Isabelle stood by and waited while Cutler jotted some notes down and signed several documents. Isabelle cleared her throat softly.

"Oh, Isabelle! I had quite forgotten you were here." Cutler set his pen down and came around the desk. "Forgive me. Business you know…"

"Of course. How can I be of service?" Cutler escorted her out into the sunshine on the balcony.

"You might be surprised to know there was a jail break yester eve."

"What?"

"Yes, the governor assisted in it. Quite the scandal. It'll be all over this dreary little town by supper I should guess." Cutler glanced at Isabelle and smiled at seeing her wide eyed, fear filled countenance. He misread the fear though. He thought she was remembering the Indian jail break, but she was seeing last night's fail.

"No worries my dear." Cutler said tapping her hand. "It was not as intense as the one a decade ago. My goodness has it been that long?"

"It seems as if it were only yesterday." Isabelle answered distantly. She was wondering where this was going. She wasn't sure if Elizabeth had succeeded or not; or if she had escaped successfully.

"Indeed." Cutler's hand rested absently across his chest, his fingers curling as if scratching at an itch. The silence stretched between them before Cutler pulled himself from the painful memories. "Any way, as I said: nothing to fear. It would seem Miss Swann is more enterprising than her father or her fiancée."

"Miss Swann?" Isabelle turned her head. "You've employed her now too?"

"In a way. She was rather….persuasive." Cutler grinned again. "Regardless, she has set off in pursuit of her love and of Jack Sparrow. But, we can't have her running off free with Company property. That's where you come in my dear."

"What do you mean? What Company property?" Isabelle's heart was soaring. Elizabeth had done it! She'd escaped with the pardon and was free! She had to concentrate on Cutler though as he continued to speak.

"I need to know where she's going. She's either still here in town or she has set sail. Her choice means little, but I need you to sniff her out."

"I'm not a bloodhound, Cutler." She felt the air shudder slightly as he bridled at her use of his first name, but he chose to ignore it.

"You'll find her. You have that talent. That is the task I'm charging you with and you'll carry it out." Cutler's fingers dug into her arm. "Mercer is going to accompany you to make sure you are staying on track. I think Elizabeth will run for help, but if Turner and Sparrow are at sea, where would she turn to for that help?"

"The Commodore…" Isabelle came to the conclusion herself, without the mental prompt she picked up on from Cutler.

"Exactly! My God Isabelle, but you do surprise me with how intelligent you can be when it suits you." Isabelle glared up at Cutler but withdrew her glare as Cutler's fingers dug deeper into her arm. "Now, you'll leave at the soonest moment. Pack lightly and be prepared to leave with the tide should the need arise." Cutler released her with a slight shove towards the door.

"As you wish it." Isabelle dipped a quick curtsy and made to leave.

"And Isabelle…." Isabelle stopped at the door, her fingertips on the brass handle when Cutler spoke. "If I find out you had any hand in her escape, you'll regret it."

"What?" Isabelle wasn't sure she had heard him correctly and she turned away from the door. She instantly regretted doing so as she caught Cutler's glacial stare full on; a stare so cold that it robbed her of her breath.

"Rather odd that everywhere you go there's a jail break, doesn't it seem?"

"Cutler you know I never…."

"Yes so you've said repeatedly for the last eleven years." Isabelle schooled her features and waited until Cutler went back to the ledgers on his desk before she raced from the room to put as much distance between her and Cutler as was possible.


	6. Tortuga

Isabelle packed a trunk and had it taken to the docks. On her way across the foyer she glanced in the mirror and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. She didn't like what she saw in the glass. She looked tired and worn and pale. She remembered a time when her skin had reflected the warmth of the golden Indian sun and her eyes had sparkled like the tops of the waves of the sea on a windy day. Now her eyes were dull and filled with sadness and she could see no way of pulling herself from the depths of despair she now found herself in; especially having to spend the next few weeks with Mr. Mercer. She shuddered as she thought of the dark thoughts that rushed through the man's mind. Violet brought her coat down and Isabelle shrugged into it. Isabelle didn't care if it wasn't in fashion. She was about to spend the next few weeks in the company of strange men, probably getting no sleep aboard ship, looking for a woman that exhibited a perceived threat to Cutler, a perceived threat that _she'd_ released into the wider world. As much as she disliked Cutler's tactics, he was all the family she had left in the world, and pleasing him meant everything to her. The coat would be much easier to maneuver in on ship and through crowded cities. The heavy gray wool was soft to the touch and the cut of it was similar to the wasp-waisted coats that had been favored by Cutler's father. It was feminine though, with tassled drawstrings to tie up the hood and black trimmings and frogs. The sleeves were belled slightly from the elbow, but not so much so as to hamper any dexterity she might need. She patted the pocket flaps down and smoothed the coat down over her dress. She could at least look neat if she were forced to go out and do Cutler's bidding. Satisfied with how she looked, she went out to the wide drive and was handed up into the coach. The sky was beginning to darken with clouds that matched her coat and Isabelle dreaded the thought of sailing out into a storm. She hoped their voyage could be delayed until the storm had passed but somehow she knew that it would be impossible.

The coach rolled up to the docks and Mr. Mercer came forward to open the door for her.

"Miss Beckett."

"Mr. Mercer." She said by way of greeting and followed behind him up the gangway onto the commandeered ship and into the cabin that had been set aside for her use. It was sparse and cramped, but it would do for the brief time they were to spend at sea.

"So, do you have any idea where she might have gone?" Mr. Mercer asked. He was standing in the door directly behind her, blocking her escape. He was an intimidating character.

"I'd like to go down to talk to the dock master. I won't be able to say for sure until then."

"But you're sure she's not here?"

"Well obviously. A rat couldn't hide in here." Isabelle said picking at a pill of lint clinging to the thin blanket on the hard bed.

"That's not what I meant, Miss Beckett."

"I know that Mr. Mercer, it was meant to be a joke." Isabelle stood still as Mr. Mercer stepped farther into the room and towered over her. "I'd appreciate it if you'd step back, sir."

"And I'd appreciate it if you would not impede my investigation, madam." Isabelle glared at him. "Lord Beckett authorized me to use any means necessary to make sure you did your duty. Don't get me wrong miss, I will use any means necessary to carry out mine. Am I understood?"

"Perfectly." Isabelle said. Mr. Mercer was very good at one thing, disguising his true feelings. Isabelle caught little from him, but knew that the stony resolve was a very dangerous threat. "Shall we go talk to the dock master then?"

Mr. Mercer took a step back and extended his arm, allowing her to precede him back to the dock.

* * *

Isabelle stood on the deck and listened as the bell clanged for the watch to change. She'd been brought out of her sleep by a terrible nightmare that she'd picked up on from one of the men on board. The moon rode high in the sky and was marred by only a few clouds. They'd been at sea for a few days and Isabelle had gained very little while at sea. Really she was only there to talk to people to be sure they weren't lying to Mr. Mercer. The dock master at Port Royal was an unscrupulous man who cared more about money than anything else. He had not seen a girl on the docks at all and would not have if he were at home counting his money. Isabelle had looked out at the mouth of the harbor where just the day before a few ships had bobbed. Now the horizon was clear.

"What of the ships that were there. Where would they have made for?" She had asked. The man had looked out at the mouth of the harbor and shrugged.

"Some of them were laid pretty heavy with goods. They'd probably make for one of the few free ports left."

"We need a list of those ports. She's probably aboard one of them." Isabelle stalked away from the dock master and went back to the ship while Mr. Mercer got the list of ports.

And so they had sailed around and visited one port already, but Elizabeth was not there. Standing in the cool moonlight, Isabelle closed her eyes and cast her thoughts outward. She did not want to see Elizabeth captured, but she didn't want to spend any more time with Mercer either. She was uncomfortable enough around the man. The other reason was that if she knew where Elizabeth had gone, she might be able to delay Mercer in arriving there. She was still casting her thoughts around when she saw flaming letters spelling out the word "Tortuga." She took a step back but the letters seemed to follow her. Suddenly the letters were no longer on fire, but there was a sword in front of her that was consumed in flame. It was cast about and suddenly in the light of the flame illuminated the dark features of William Turner. Monsters stepped out of the darkness, half man and half sea creature and surrounded him. Even with her eyes open she could still see Mr. Turner fighting against the creatures that were attacking him. It was as if she were looking through a telescope at the scene from afar. She continued to watch for some time but couldn't understand what was happening until a large man who had a claw for right hand, a peg leg, and what looked like tentacles for a beard stomped onto the decks of the broken down ship where Mr. Turner now knelt beside other men. She gasped as the strange creature closed the distance and suddenly appeared right in front of her. From this vantage she could see that the man's head was that of an octopus and that he was almost completely made of things from the sea, and yet, he seemed human.

The word Tortuga flashed in her mind again and now she knew that both Elizabeth and Jack Sparrow were bound for the island Pirate Haven. As the vision cleared from her mind she saw Mr. Mercer standing to her left.

"You saw something."

"I needed fresh air." She lied, and continued to stare at the place where the moon's luminescent light darted across the waves.

"Come now, Miss. You think Lord Beckett didn't tell me about you and your visions?" When Isabelle didn't answer he stepped closer. "Oh, he did. A witch like you shouldn't have been permitted to live, but since you would seem to have made yourself indispensable to Lord Beckett, I'll tolerate your presence. But only in so much that you are going to help make my job easier."

"And why would I want to make _your_ job easier, Mr. Mercer?" Isabelle said narrowing her eyes and stepping away from the rail. "Why is that of any interest to me?"

"Because if you make my job easier, you get to live." Mercer closed the distance between them and stroked her cheek with a black gloved hand. "And if you do it quickly, you'll do it without any horrific scars to mar this pretty face of yours." Isabelle glared up at the man threatening her and jerked her head away from his hand. She momentarily thought about telling him a lie, but something deep within her convinced her otherwise.

"They're bound for Tortuga." She said looking away. "She'll be there hoping to find information on her fiancée."

"There now. Was that so hard?" Mr. Mercer cracked what might have been a smile and stalked away to tell the captain to alter course.

It took quite a few days to get to Tortuga and they waited within site of the city but did not enter port until after night fell. Isabelle stood on deck with Mr. Mercer as the men lowered the long boats into the water to prepare to row to land.

"Come along Miss Beckett."

"Me?" Isabelle looked up at Mr. Mercer and then towards the city.

"Yes, you don't expect me to go wandering from pub to pub to alley to search for that girl, do you?" When Isabelle didn't answer he went on. "Oh you did? Well, allow me to convince you otherwise Miss Beckett. I would like to return to Port Royal as quickly as possible and you and your un-godly talent are going to see to that."

"Very well Mr. Mercer." Isabelle said as she stalked past him and to the rail where a sailor helped her down into the bobbing long boat.

The streets were loud and crowded in Tortuga. Isabelle heard gun shots being fired in town and could smell smoke from a burning building and several small fires built on the street corners--if the open avenues between the houses could be considered streets. Music from the taverns poured out into the night creating a cacophonous base melody to the din of the city. Isabelle pulled her coat closer to her body and fastened the clasps down its front. She didn't like this city at all. Evil held court in Tortuga, and hate and fear were its consorts. She followed behind Mr. Mercer and tried to avoid the deep mud that filled the streets and that threatened to consume anyone who dared step into it. They entered a brightly lit square and were nearly run over by a careening wagon. A keg of rum tipped off the out of control vehicle and crashed to the cobbles. The barrel split apart spilling the alcohol into the gutters. A torch, which was guttering dully burst into flame and the entire pool of alcohol ignited as well. Isabelle stepped back, trying to avoid the flames and knocked in to one of the men in her group.

"Careful Miss." The man moved around her and into the square following Mercer who was ignoring the activity in the square. Isabelle followed as fast as she could. She glanced at some of the people as she followed Mr. Mercer.

There was a man lying drunk in a gutter who had lost his wife in child birth. He had gone to sea and had managed to get to Tortuga. He wanted to die.

Another man shrugging into the shadows followed the well dressed group with his eyes. He averted his gaze when Isabelle's touched his. He was suspicious of them, but wasn't going to get too near them. He had committed some crime or another and thought that the legal authorities had finally caught up to him.

There was a woman standing beneath the twisted tree in the center of the square. Her eyes were lined with kohl and her pale blonde hair was tousled and greasy. Her corset was cinched tight and cut low, accentuating a pale, firm bust line. Isabelle watched as the girl boldly walked up to a man and grasped his arm and touched his chest. Her laugh rang out over the other noise in the square and the man's dopey grin answered the girl's bright smile. Isabelle focused on her thoughts and saw a dirty room in a run down tenement. It was cold outside and a young girl sat in the closet playing with a doll with a scratched china face. The man and woman in the next room were making a great deal of noise and Isabelle blushed at the realization of what was going on. This was a memory of the blonde woman. Her mother had been a prostitute, and now she was one as well.

Isabelle broke free from the blonde woman's thoughts and turned to keep up with the rest of her group.

But they were no where in sight.

Isabelle looked around frantically but could not see Mercer and his men.

"_Fine bit of skirt that one is…"_

"_Lost little lamb in the pasture."_

"_What I'd give for a poke at that one."_

"_Fresh Fish"_

Isabelle looked around frantically and saw several men leering at her. Even some of the whores were looking at her with stares waiting to see what would happen. Isabelle moved quickly back across the square and down the street. She found a recessed door way and breathed deeply gathering her thoughts and trying to think about what she should do.

Suddenly, she realized that she was, for the first time in a long time, free. She was no longer in Cutler's control.

Slowly she cast her thoughts out and searched for Jack. She could at least warn him about Mercer and, she hoped, that she'd be able to find Elizabeth with him. She knew, deep in her heart that Jack was here in the city.

She'd actually come to a conclusion long ago and strongly believed in it. It was after the jail break in India when she had first realized it. Kapil had done much to strengthen her mind and to give her the ability to block out thoughts and channel the ones she wished to. But after the night of the jail break, she felt as if she were being pulled by Cutler. A second, but less strong consciousness also tugged at her mind, and when she concentrated on it, most often when she was beside the river at the old stone bench, she realized it was Jack, sailing the open seas quite happily. Jack and Cutler—she had known Cutler far longer than she had Jack. Cutler was nobility, Jack, though low born, was a King of the Sea. But one thing connected the two men to Isabelle closer than anything else; she had their blood on her hands. She'd bandaged Jack's arm after Cutler branded him, and she'd staunched the flow of blood from Cutler's wounds after Jack had cut him. She was now irreversibly connected to the two men. Every intense emotion that either felt, she felt. She could also cast her thoughts out at any time and find them. She might not be a blood hound, but if anyone wanted to know where Jack or Cutler were, all they had to do was ask her. She'd been very careful to keep this information from Cutler's father and, when Cutler had taken control of the company, she'd kept it from Cutler. Now, for once, her gift was actually useful to her and she locked on to Jack. He was in a pub and staring at a compass. He was lost.

Isabelle withdrew her thoughts from his and knew that if Jack Sparrow were in port, he'd have gotten there by ship. If he were lost, he'd be looking for the next port of call and for what he was looking for. She grinned in the darkness of the recessed doorway. Captain Jack Sparrow always seemed lost and chasing after something. She shook her head and remembered the gold toothed grin and dark eyes staring down at her. She wondered if Jack had changed much, but in her heart, she knew he hadn't.

Shouting up the street pulled her from her musings and she quickly stepped back out onto the thoroughfare to make her way to the water front. She only hoped Jack's ship were as easy to find as he was.


	7. We Meet Again

Isabelle reached the docks and stared at the forest of masts and lines that were tangled shadows in the moonlight. To her, they all looked quite the same, but then, as her eyes adjusted to the greasy and dim lantern light on the docks, she began to notice the subtle differences. She noticed the differences in the width of the ships, and the number of gun ports. She sensed, rather than saw, the actual colors of the ships and, above all else, she began to see the figure heads taking shape out of the shadows.

Most were of bare breasted women reaching far ahead of the ships. Some were mermaids with tails that curled back into the prow of the ship. Others wore long flowing dresses, the hems of which disappeared cunningly into the woodwork of the hulls. Some figure heads depicted animals. She saw two English lions and one evil looking dragon, the tongue of which protruded from a sharp jawed snarl. She walked slowly along the docks and stared up at the big figure heads and eventually found herself at the end of the quay. There, in the darkness sat a black ship. She peered into the shadows and saw that at the front of the ship was a woman, arm extended, holding a bird. She remembered that figure head. She'd seen it many times on the water front in India when she'd been young; the _Wicked Wench_. She had heard it had been sunk though. Suddenly a chill raced up her spine and she knew in the depths of her soul that this ship was surrounded in dark magic. A gust of wind snapped at a sail that hadn't been furled properly and she snapped out of the dark thoughts she'd been trapped in. The gang plank had been lowered and a few lanterns were guttering lowly on the deck. She saw no one marching the decks and chanced to walk slowly up the gang way. She crouched low when she reached the ship itself and looked on deck. She cast her thoughts out, but sensed no one nearby. She stepped onto the deck and made her way aft. She went to the door beneath the steps up to the helm and turned the latch to step inside. The door opened with a loud groan and she winced. Below decks she heard someone's feet hit the wood decking and she quickly stepped inside Jack's cabin and stepped into the shadows beside the door, but still saw no one come up on deck. Isabelle heaved a sigh of relief and walked around Jack's spacious cabin. The ornate desk at the back of the space was covered in parchment and maps. One map was stretched flat with two bottles of rum which contained different levels of the amber liquor, and a sextant that was bent and looked as if it had been salvaged from a wreck. Other trinkets and items littered the desk. Chests carved from rare woods from the far reaches of the world were all over the cabin. She ran her fingers over a battered teak wood chest when she heard a commotion on the dock outside. She approached the window and flicked the latch to push the window open just an inch. Jack's voice drifted up to her ears.

"It should be a dress or nothing at all! I just happen to have no dress in my cabin." Isabelle rolled her eyes. Jack was a lascivious leech. More than a decade hadn't changed his ways. She leaned forward and touched her cheek to the glass to hear more.

"Jack, all I want is to find Will."

_Good._ Isabelle thought, _Elizabeth has found him as well._

The next bit of conversation was hard for her to hear, but eventually the voices were carried to her on a wisp of breeze.

"Well, there is a chest…."

"Oh dear." The new voice belonged to a man.

"A chest of unknown size and origin…" That was Jack again.

"What contains the still beating heart o' Davy Jones."

Isabelle stepped back from the window. She could not have heard the man correctly. But now she heard people stomping onto the deck outside and she thought it prudent to move into the deepest shadows of the cabin and await Jack. Jack's voice was carried to her a few moments later when he shouted for his first mate.

"Mr. Gibbs!"

"Cap'n?"

"We have our heading!" There was more stomping and shouting and Isabelle stayed in the shadows of Jack's cabin with bated breath. Suddenly all the chinks in her plan came to light. She was a stowaway on a pirate ship. Granted, she knew the captain of the vessel, but that had been over a decade ago. In spite of all her fears though, she knew that she'd be welcomed, if not warmly, by Jack Sparrow.

It took almost an hour before Jack entered the cabin. Elizabeth had followed him.

"Jack, really, where did you get that compass?"

"What's it to you, love?"

"Jack…"

"Suffice it to say, that I'd rather not….say." Jack turned and grinned at Elizabeth revealing the same smile that Isabelle remembered from so long ago. "Now if you don't mind darling…I have Captainy things to be doing." Isabelle sensed the frustration in Elizabeth; she was a headstrong woman and wasn't used to not being told everything. Isabelle sighed softly when she heard Elizabeth's footfalls leave Jack's cabin.

Isabelle smiled indulgently as Jack turned and un-corked one of the bottles of rum on his desk, the parchment beneath it curling up against the other bottle. Isabelle cleared her throat softly as Jack drained the bottle. Thoughts raced from his mind to hers so she was un-afraid when he leveled his pistol at her in one smooth motion.

"Who's there?"

"I'm sorry to intrude, Captain Sparrow. Is this a bad time?" She stepped slowly from the shadows and strolled into the golden light of the hurricane lamps that dimly lit the cabin.

"Who are you? Have we met before?"

"Yes. I should say we have." She smiled softly and stood tall in front of him. "It was a long time ago though, I wouldn't blame you for forgetting."

"India…."

"Yes. Allow me to re-introduce myself. I'm Isabelle Beckett."

"Beckett? Beckett!? My god…you were related to that psychopath?"

"You didn't know?"

"Of course I did." Jack straightened as best he could against the slightly rolling ship and strolled around the desk. "I just didn't know how."

"We're not blood relations. His father adopted me and I adopted his name."

"Oh." Jack sat down and propped his feet up on the desk. "And now what brings you here?"

"I'm in need of a favor."

"A favor? Last time I helped you, you'll remember what happened."

"Yes, through no fault of my own. But you'll find yourself in a worse predicament with or without me."

"Without you? How so?"

"Cap'n?!?"

"Hide!" Isabelle slid back into the shadows as another man burst into the cabin. "Mr. Gibbs! What is it man?!" Jack Bellowed.

"Sir, I know Miss Elizabeth is a fine woman and has sailed with us before, but you know it is frightful bad luck to have a woman aboard?"

"Yes, so I've heard….but I think we're in a much better position to have them with us."

"Them?" Isabelle stiffened, thinking Jack was about to give her away but he covered himself remarkable well.

"Elizabeth and Mr. Norrington."

"He's a good sea faring man."

"So is she." Mr. Gibbs stared oddly at Jack but then shrugged it off. He was still unsure, but figured that this was just another of Jack's eccentricities. "Mr. Gibbs, please put your mind at rest. Establish quarters for Miss Swann down stairs. Make them as good as you possibly can."

"Aye Sir." Mr. Gibbs left the room, a dark cloud of doubt still hanging over him.

"So, are you still there, or were you a ghost from my past?"

"I'm still here." Isabelle said as she stepped back into the room.

"That's what I was afraid of." Jack said with a sigh. He picked up the second bottle of rum and uncorked it and held it out to her.

"No thank you." Jack grunted in response and drained the bottle as well.

"The last un-welcome visitor I had came with rum. I'm guessing I'll not be so lucky twice."

"I'm sorry."

"Bah." Jack stood up shakily and came to the spot where Isabelle stood in the middle of his cabin. "Tell me what you did bring."

"A longer criminal record. Information. And a tool."

"Oh really now. Have you stolen flowers from your brother's garden?" His mocking tone was meant to wound but it had none of its stinging venom considering Jack's demeanor.

"No. Another prison break." Jack stepped back quickly. "I'm becoming quite fond of them."

"I should say so." Jack's appraisal of her seemed to be more calculating this time. "How long since the last one? Fifteen years?"

"Eleven." Jack groaned and moved away again. "But I'm sure we can catch up any time. Don't you want the information I have?"

"What'll it cost me?"

"Passage on your ship." Jack sat down carefully and looked at her. "That's all I ask, and since I'm already here, I think it would be less trouble than turning around."

"Hmm…so what information have you?"

"You agree to give me passage until such time as _I_ choose to disembark?"

"Agreed." Isabelle knew instinctively that she'd cut the right kind of bargain.

"Cutler--Lord Beckett---is now in charge of all Things Company related. He is casting out for anything and everything which will make him rich. That includes something that will probably kill him in the hunting."

"And that is?"

"Something to control the very oceans and winds." Jack's face betrayed nothing, but his thoughts raced to a chest and a heart. Isabelle again thought her mind was translating thoughts improperly, but shook it off.

"He thinks _you_ have the way to find it."

"And why would he think that?" Jack's eyes drifted from hers and he stared intently at his desk, his fingers playing with the mouth of the rum bottle.

"I'm not privy to that information."

"You also said you brought a tool?"

"Me."

"You?" Jack's eyes snapped up to meet hers again.

"Yes." Isabelle stepped forward and placed her fingertips on the desk. "Suffice it to say that in my being here, Cutler has lost his ability to track you."

"Why must women always speak in riddles?" Jack grumbled. Isabelle was transported on a wave of Jack's memories to a dark skinned woman in a tiny shack on a bayou. There was a power around this woman the same as surrounded the _Pearl._ She had no doubt that the two were connected.

"Because our power far surpasses what mere men could ever understand." Jack's kohl rimmed eyes darted to hers and studied her for some time.

"I'm going to pretend that I never heard you say that and order that we continue this discussion tomorrow morning."

"Very well, Captain Sparrow."

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack's bellow shook the windows behind him as he launched himself from the chair. Isabelle smiled softly at the floor as Jack sauntered towards his cabin door shouting for his first mate. The man with mutton chop whiskers entered and stared oddly at Isabelle.

"Who be she?"

"She? She be a woman of great value and import to our quest, savvy?"

"Sir, she be a woman and that be all we need knowing. Its frightful bad luck having a woman aboard sir…..it's even more frightful to have two of 'em."

"Mr. Gibbs, if what she says is true, then we'd have even more unfortunate luck were she in the hands of our enemies." Mr. Gibbs looked as if he was going to argue, but a sharp glance from Jack stopped the words in his mouth. "Take the lady to Elizabeth's cabin. They can stay together."

"Aye sir."

"Thank You Captain Sparrow." Isabelle said inclining her head towards Jack and she followed Mr. Gibbs out of the cabin and into the moonlight.


	8. Dreams and Secrets

When Isabelle entered the cabin Elizabeth was just hanging her coat on a peg that jutted from a support in the middle of the room.

"I cabin mate for you, Miss Elizabeth." Mr. Gibbs said by way of introduction before disappearing up the dark corridor.

"You." Elizabeth gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help." Elizabeth stared at her new comrade for a moment and then sat on the corner of the hard bunk. "You don't trust me."

"No I don't." Elizabeth answered as she watched Isabelle slip her own coat from her shoulders and sit opposite her. "You knew an awful lot about the East India Trading Company and these documents." Elizabeth patted her fingers against the left side of her chest. Isabelle guessed the documents were tucked into her vest.

"That's true. But you are free and alive. I should think that's enough information to share for now." A sudden vision swept passed Isabelle's eyes and she closed her eyes against it.

"Are you alright?" Elizabeth asked, concerned when she saw the pained look strike the woman across from her.

"I will be. It's been a trying day." Isabelle lay back slowly against her hard bed and tried to fight against the power of the

* * *

Isabelle sat up in the darkness and gasped for breath. She was thankful her companion was a heavy sleeper for she was sure that she had made enough noise to wake everyone aboard the ship. She'd shared the dream of one of the crewmen, a man who had been held captive and punished for a crime he hadn't committed. The Spaniards were fond of torturing those with different beliefs; especially English Protestants. This man, a devout sailor had refused to be pressed into a Catholic crew and had spouted supposed heresy against the Spanish captain. The man, a treacherous character with dark skin and shining curled black hair had had the man's tongue removed for spouting such lies and left the man marooned to die. It was a horrible vision and Isabelle clicked her own tongue against the back of her teeth to be sure her own tongue was still in her mouth. 

Another vision gripped her, this one steeped deeply in the ship. She saw the ship rise from the depths of the blindingly blue Indian Ocean and saw Jack running a hand lovingly over the worm eaten wood. She heard words on a soft breeze but she fought against it and rose quickly.

"Are you alright?" Elizabeth had rolled over and watched as the other woman teetered against the rocking ship towards to door.

"Fine, I just need some air." Isabelle raced from the room as her companion rolled back over and was lulled quickly back to sleep by the bobbing motions of the ship.

* * *

Isabelle raced up the steps to the main deck and towards the rail where she inhaled deeply of the silver moonlight and salt air. She grasped at the ratlines running above her head to the top of the mizzenmast and clung to them as if they were the only thing that could hold her to the ship. The power of the _Black Pearl_, whatever had raised it, was stronger than she was. She closed her eyes as her senses stopped reeling and she was brought back to herself. A few deep and steadying breaths calmed her and she stood, rooted to the spot, watching the moon sink lower and lower into the Caribbean. One man was at the helm and a few others sat near the bow of the ship, ready to go aloft should the need arise. But it was a calm night, and little work was needed to keep the ship sailing smoothly on the third watch. Isabelle continued to stare at the moonlit waters and watched as the moonlight reflected off the gently heaving whitecaps. Occasionally, mist would drift across her face as the ship plunged into a furrow between two of the waves. She stepped sideways and grasped a belaying pin to steady herself as the ship's bow dove steeply into one of these furrows. 

She was no longer in the calm evening waters of the Caribbean, but lost on dark and turbulent seas in another tropic locale.

"Sir, we will lose them in those shoals." Isabelle turned her head to see the waves break against the shallow shoals, a yellow line of land standing bright behind it against the eerie sky. Greenish lightening cracked across a purple sky, but still the ship plowed on, hot in pursuit of its quarry.

"Steady on, have the men stow and secure all loose articles on deck below. See the carpenter's mate and fetch a report on our circumstances." Wind howled into her face and gained in ferocity. The sails overhead snapped loud as thunder and the ship plunged deeper into the gray waves.

"Sir, we should put in at Tripoli to wait out the storm! It's too dangerous!" A man now shouted into the wind.

"No! Not when we're this close!" Isabelle squinted through a sheet of rain that now pelted across the deck of the ship and could only faintly make out the shape of a ship moving across the flashes of light. Faster and faster her ship gained speed and faster and faster the wind blew and the lightening cracked. The ship tossed and rolled in the violent seas, and she held fast to the rail before her. The rain stung her face and hands, but she did not close her eyes. She would not lose the prey before her. But suddenly her ship was grasped by a huge wave and slapped hard to port, taking men and a few heavy cannon with it. The anchor's securing chain broke loose and the heavy claw went racing to the bottom of sea. She heard men crying in agony and she raced to help but to no avail. The ship came to an abrupt halt in raging sea and spun around on the pivot point created by the anchor. Men were screaming and praying and crying out as the ship bobbed and dipped into the raging seas around her and were carried off. She too was nearly swept away as she knelt beside a broken lieutenant, his hat and wig long since washed away and the white of his waistcoat and breeches dyed a deep shade of maroon from the blood seeping from a belly wound sustained when he was pinned to the mast by a loose cannon. She was saved only by thinking quickly and grasping the rat lines that extended overhead into the hurricane that raged above her and broke her ship to pieces.

Norrington awoke with a start. His stomach growled horribly and he wished he'd filled it with more than rum this night.

He wished he had more rum to quiet it and his nightmares. He had been dreaming of the hurricane that had destroyed his ship. Jack Sparrow and his wily crew of miscreants had skirted the storm, but Norrington had been convinced that Sparrow was daring, and foolish enough, to sail straight into the storm. He'd been a fool. He'd gotten men killed. He rose from the coil of rope he'd been sleeping against and stretched his tired body. Perhaps it was too early to be back at sea. Perhaps it was exactly what his rum soaked body needed to dry out. A little sun and salt were good for a man. He stopped mid stretch when he heard someone's heavy breaths coming from ahead of him. He skirted the mast and saw a female figure standing beside the rail, silhouetted against the moonlight. He assumed it was Elizabeth.

He took a few silent strides towards her and listened carefully, sure now that she was sobbing. Her shoulders shook, but she would not remove her grasp from the rail or the ropes around her. He then realized that this woman was not Elizabeth. This girl was taller than Elizabeth was and he came to stand beside her wondering first what she was doing on the ship, and second who she was. Her hair was longer than Elizabeth's, and a lighter shade of blonde. He knew it had to be because it was nearly silver in the bright moonlight. He stood to her left and tried to get a glimpse of her face. Her lips moved wordlessly and a look of utter and complete terror was frozen to her face.

But it was the woman's eyes that terrified James Norrington. They were dark and light at the same time, a horrible milky color that reflected the silver disc of the moon and the deep darkness of the blackest of storms.

"Hold fast….Hold Fast…" The woman's words were soft to his ears, but he knew them well. Things he and his men had said so many months before, screaming and shouting to others and themselves; a mantra taken up by the few who had survived the Tripoli Hurricane.

"Miss?" Norrington reached out a tentative hand, but as he did the woman took a step away from the rat lines and seemed to try to shout the word 'no'. The syllable died on her lips as she arched up on tip toe and reeled backwards.

Mr. Norrington caught her up before she hit the deck and stood holding her for a moment, shocked at what he had witnessed. He lowered her to the deck supporting her against another coil of rope and went to fetch a cup of water from the barrel at mid-ships. He touched her shoulder gently and shook her. Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked several times. Her eyes seemed darker now, not the eerie shade he had seen reflected before, but a more normal shade. He now wished there was a lamp closer for he wanted to know if they were brown or green.

"Miss, are you alright?"

* * *

It took Isabelle several seconds to orient herself and clear her head. She'd been trapped in the vision of the hurricane and she wondered whose nightmare vision that had been. Then someone spoke out in the darkness above her and she tried to sit up. 

"I wouldn't be so fast, madam. You had quite the scare…"

"Oh…I…." Her voice was coarse and she coughed slightly.

"Here, drink some water." She felt his hand behind her and she slowly rose to a seated position from which she could drink.

"Thank you."

"Who are you? What are you doing aboard this ship?" Isabelle wiped at the corner of her mouth with her fingertips before answering.

"My name is Isabelle….I'm….I'm not sure why I'm here….just that this is where I'm supposed to be."

"Well, Isabelle. How are you feeling?"

"Much better….but tired." Isabelle felt a wave of pity from her dark rescuer. He had a nice voice; smooth and dark and familiar. "I should be getting back to bed." She pushed herself up from the coil of rope she'd been lying against and tried to make her way back to the hatch she'd ascended through. Her foot was tangled in the rope though and she found herself suddenly pressed close to the man that towered above her in the dark.

"Careful now…." He whispered as one arm went around her narrow waist and the other grasped her elbow. She was briefly engulfed in a warm scene overlooking the Caribbean blue waters. But she was quick to shield herself from the intrusive thoughts. "Can you make it?"

"I will sir. Thank you." Isabelle carefully took a step forward and away from the supporting arms of her rescuer.

"Goodnight, Miss Isabelle." She saw the man bow in the darkness as she stepped down the ladder and went gratefully to her bed.

* * *

Isabelle rose the next morning and went up onto the deck of the ship. She raised one hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun and stared as the deck teemed with sailors scrubbing at the wood with holy stones. The deck rolled violently beneath her and she had to grasp the ratlines leading up into the masts to keep from being thrown over. Several thoughts drifted through her mind like fall leaves and soon she felt every eye on deck upon her. 

"Beckett!" Isabelle snapped her attention away from the curious on lookers to see where Jack, Elizabeth and Mr. Gibbs were standing in a close group.

"Yes, they are signed Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company."

"Bleh." Jack made a disgusted noise as he looked at a series of documents he held in his hands. One side of Isabelle's mouth curled up at Jack's childish and disgusted reaction to the name of her brother.

"Will was working for Beckett and never said a word!" Gibbs interjected. Elizabeth looked as if she wanted to correct him but was stopped by another disgusted sound coming from Jack. "Beckett wants your compass and there's only one reason for that…."

"Of course! He wants the chest." Jack answered as if it were obvious. Elizabeth stared at Jack.

"He did mention a chest. Is it the same…?"

"If the company controls the chest, they controls the sea!" Mr. Gibbs snapped.

"A truly discomforting notion, love…"

"And bad. Bad for every mother's son what calls himself a pirate. I think there's a bit more speed to be coaxed from these sails. Brace the foreyard!" Mr. Gibbs raced down the deck and barely took the time to touch his thumb to his brow as he passed Isabelle by.

"Might I inquire how as to how you came by these?" Jack said as he waved the leather bound documents near Elizabeth.

"Persuasion."

"Friendly?"

"Decidedly not." Elizabeth turned her eyes to where Isabelle stood watching the scene unfold. "And not without some help." Jack turned to see Isabelle standing a few feet away and he flinched.

"How long have you been there?"

"Long enough."

"And your night passed well?"

"Decidedly not." Isabelle answered, deciding to parrot Elizabeth's veiled line just to see Jack squint at her, annoyed with her impertinence. She smiled indulgently at him before he turned back to Elizabeth.

"Will strikes a deal for these and upholds it with honor. Yet you're the one standing here with the prize. Full pardon, commission as a privateer on behalf of England and the East India Trading Company. As if I could be bought for such a low price." Jack walked away as he tucked the documents into his coat pocket. Isabelle looked around. She'd felt the wave of desire and hope slam against her at the mention of the pardon and commission and she wondered what pirate would want to trade a life of freedom to a life of rules and regulations of living under Company rule.

"As I said…Persuade me." Isabelle approached Jack as Elizabeth stalked away from him.

"You are an infuriating man when it suits you."

"Agh!" Jack said turning back to face Isabelle. "My ship. I'll do what I wants, savvy?" He stalked away from her.

"Captain Sparrow, you wanted to further our discussion."

"I suppose we should, but not here…." He stopped beside Mr. Gibbs who was coiling rope and tapped the man on the shoulder. "Mr. Gibbs, fetch Miss Swann and bring her to my cabin."

"Aye sir!" The man shuffled back in the direction they had come from as Isabelle followed behind Jack and went into the dim cabin.

"Rum? Wine?"

"No thank you." She stood and tried to maintain her steady balance as the ship bobbed happily in the ocean. Elizabeth came in, followed by Mr. Gibbs and he shut the door on the cabin.

"Mr. Gibbs, I think it best you not be here for this discussion, if you'll excuse the ladies and I…."

"But Cap'n…."

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack snapped and the barrel-chested man quickly nodded his head and left the cabin.

"Now, where were we…." Jack said, putting his booted feet on the desk and leaning back in his chair. "Ah yes…introductions…."

"We know each other…" Elizabeth said.

"Yes, I should hope you two had spoken last night before turning in."

"Once before that as well." Isabelle said. "I helped Miss Swann escape. She was my second jail break."  
"Second?" Elizabeth seemed shocked.

"Her?" Jack seemed affronted.

"Yes to both of your questions." Isabelle looked between the two of them. But Jack was quickly redirecting the conversation.

"Last night you said you were more valuable to me here because with you not being in his Lordship's clutches, you were not able to track me in my being here. So how's that figure?"

"What?"

"I think I should start at the beginning and catch both of you up to speed." Isabelle quickly told them of how Cutler had sent her out to track Elizabeth after her jail break.

"But why send you?" Elizabeth asked. "What can you do that one of his lackey's can't?"

"I have a gift, Miss Swann. A horrible and terrible gift." Isabelle leveled her eyes to the younger woman. "I have what the gypsies referred to as 'the sight' and with it; I can do and see things I wish I could not." Jack stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Eleven years ago, Cutler branded Jack a Pirate. Jack had been out to sea, trying to avoid my father, the previous Lord Beckett, who wanted to employee his ship…_this_ ship…as a slaver." Elizabeth looked to Jack who now squirmed awkwardly, as if his sword were digging uncomfortably into his leg. Isabelle ignored them both and powered on. "I went to the jail where they were holding Jack and bandaged his arm. In the process, some of his blood ended up on my hands. Later, in a planned jail break, I freed Jack. He held me hostage and led me to the docks."

"Jack…"Elizabeth scolded.

"Pirate!" Jack countered.

"Regardless….Cutler caught up with us then. He rushed Jack and Jack defended himself and probably saved me as the current Lord Beckett has never really held any sort of familial love in his heart for me. Jack disappeared into the night, but I was left on the docks with Cutler, who was bleeding from a ghastly wound inflicted by Jack."

"Oh Jack…"

"But because I have their blood on my hands, I am bound to them. I have a very special connection to the two of them and regardless of how far from either of them I might ever be, I will always be able to find either of them."

"So in your being here…."Jack kicked his feet from the table and rose quickly to his feet.

"I can not supply Lord Beckett or his aides with either of your locations." Isabelle supplied. Jack grinned his crooked, gold filled grin and held his arms out.

"Welcome to the _Pearl_, Miss Beckett, and I'm sorry I ever doubted you." Isabelle's eyes dropped to his bare arm where a scrap of lace was wrapped around his wrist.

"And you pretended you'd forgotten me." She stepped forward and grasped Jack's wrist. In her mind she saw Jack watching a younger version of herself bandaging his wounds and helping him escape. "If I'd been such an insignificant character in your life, you would have discarded this."

"Yes…well…."

"So we're settled then?" Isabelle felt something a kin to jealousy wash from Elizabeth and she stepped away from Jack. "She remains with us until we find Will."

"Until we find the chest and then she can probably help us find a way to find Will." Jack said.

"Yes. I've already seen Mr. Turner once." Isabelle answered.

"You've seen Will? Then he's alright?" Elizabeth asked excitedly.

"Yes. He's as well as can be expected." Isabelle smiled and felt the relief pool around her.

"Well, since all that's well and accounted for…." Shouting interrupted Jack as something clattered loudly outside and reverberated throughout the ship. "Excuse me…..can't leave them alone for a moment…." Jack grumbled and was followed by Elizabeth to go back into the sunlight on deck, leaving Isabelle alone in the quiet and empty cabin.

* * *

**A/N: Have a very happy Talk Like a Pirate Day. I hope you all enjoyed this long chapter...**


	9. Sights Unseen

Isabelle stood on deck and stared into the moonlight. She'd spoken to Jack and Elizabeth over their evening meal and had gained permission from the Captain to stay on deck in the evenings and sleep during the first parts of the day. During the morning hours all hands would be up and about and Isabelle would find the rest she desperately needed. If she slept when everyone else was sleeping, she risked taking on their dreams which were decidedly dark.

"So how is it that ladies of obvious breeding always manage to find themselves aboard pirate vessels?" The corner of Isabelle's mouth turned up in a reluctant smile as James Norrington grasped the rigging that extended into the night sky above them.

"I believe it is necessity." She responded. He squinted at her, but it was not in anger—he almost seemed to be smiling at her.

"Necessity? How do you come to such a conclusion?" he asked. Now she was sure he was amused, the lilt of laughter was in his voice.

"Necessity drives men to piracy. Why can it not drive women to such ends?" Isabelle turned to face him, leaning against the rail and relishing in the feel of the wind and salt mist playing through her long hair. She tucked an errant strand behind her ear as Mr. Norrington continued to stare owlishly at her. "Think of it t his way. A man is poor, and can not make the living he desired as an honest trader—or, more likely, he finds himself on the losing end of some sea battle. Necessity for more treasure, or a necessity to save his own life if he found himself pressed would drive him to piracy."

"And are you the sort going after treasure, or fighting for your life?"

"My life." Isabelle answered into the darkness. There was no hesitation in her voice and though she knew he had meant the comment to be a jest, she knew in her heart that what she said was true. Necessity to protect Jack, and Elizabeth and William Turner from the evils of Lord Cutler Beckett had driven her from him and his lackey Mercer and onto the decks of _The Black Pearl._ She could hardly make out Mr. Norrington's face in the evening light but she knew the levity of their conversation was all gone. "And you? What drove you to piracy?"

"An unfortunate turn of events." Mr. Norrington built an effective wall about himself and even Isabelle's keen intuition could not penetrate it. She nodded and folded her arms across her middle, shivering slightly as an especially cool spray of mist found its way to her neck.

"Mr. Norrington! A hand, if you have one to give!" Someone shouted in the darkness. Isabelle looked towards the source of the voice but had her attention brought back to Mr. Norrington when he spoke up.

"You should go below decks. The sea and wind are coming up. Good evening Miss."

"Yes, thank you….Good evening Mr. Norrington." Isabelle and Mr. Norrington moved apart and she stayed out of the way of the crew for the remainder of the evening.

* * *

It was some days later and in the afternoon light Isabelle watched as the crew took up the daily routine and did odd jobs about the deck. She stood near the bow of the ship on the starboard side and stared at the men working amidships. Through the tangle of ropes and cable and the mass of dirty bodies she saw Elizabeth sitting on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck. Something was amiss. Isabelle could almost see the black cloud hanging above the younger girl's head. Isabelle kept her gaze focused on Elizabeth even as she sensed Jack creeping up behind her.

"Hello, Captain." She heard Jack stumble slightly and curse. It unnerved him that she could sense his every motion. "How goes the voyage?"

"Don't you know?"

"Of course." Isabelle answered, finally turning to face the dark eyed captain. "But I'd prefer to hear it outright."

"It goes well." Isabelle turned her attention back to Elizabeth who still sat staring into nothingness across the ship from them. Jack stood behind Isabelle and practically set his chin upon her shoulder to follow her gaze. "Storm's a brewing though. What say you?" Isabelle smelled rum on his breath, the spicy, sugary smell engulfing her.

"I say you're very astute. She needs someone to talk to, and understandably, she doesn't trust me. I was there when she was arrested after all, it is my brother who has turned her world topsy-turvy."

"Hmmm." Jack straightened and teetered slightly as the ship dipped into a furrow between waves, mist splashing up to soak the rail beside them. Isabelle had long since resigned herself to wet boots and hems.

"Jack." Isabelle looked at Captain Sparrow and raised one arched eyebrow. "What's stopping you?"

"Me?"

"You're itching to do it. Just go speak to the girl."

"Why can't you?"

"I don't want to intrude." Isabelle turned and strolled towards the open hatch and went below decks to retrieve her coat, leaving Jack alone on deck to talk to Elizabeth.

When Isabelle returned she found a spot on the rail to stand and watch as Jack and Elizabeth spoke in hushed tones. She watched as they drew closer and in spite of Elizabeth's feelings for Mr. Turner, which were so strong they were uncomfortable for Isabelle, there was a small essence of desire for Jack. Suddenly Isabelle realized that it wasn't truly Jack that Elizabeth desired, but what Jack stood for. Elizabeth felt trapped and thought that Jack's life offered a modicum of freedom. Isabelle also sensed a measured amount of jealousy and when she glanced around, she noticed James Norrington's eyes focused intently on Jack and Elizabeth. Elizabeth came over to where Isabelle stood and leaned on the rail. Isabelle couldn't be sure, but she thought she might have seen tears in the young girl's eyes.

"Is everything all right?" She hadn't wanted to intrude, but now she felt as if she hadn't the option; Elizabeth had come to her.

"No." Elizabeth sniffled and shook her head. "My whole life is in shambles and the one thing I want most in the world is the one thing that seems farthest off."

"Mr. Turner."

"Yes." Elizabeth breathed and now Isabelle was sure that the strong Elizabeth Swann was beginning to crack. "You said you had seen him once before and he was fine. But that was days ago. I just wish…." Elizabeth trailed off and shook her head. "I shouldn't…I'm sorry."

Isabelle smiled indulgently. There was a brief shining moment when Elizabeth had wanted to ask Isabelle to seek William out. There was hope in the thought that Isabelle might be able to help her. Isabelle hadn't felt helpful to anyone in a very long time.

"It would be difficult…but I could try."

"What?"

"You want me to search for Will. I could give it a try, but I can make no promises." Elizabeth's eyes were bright.

"Really?" Isabelle smiled softly and nodded.

"Let's go up near the helm, where there aren't so many eyes." Isabelle led the way and heard Elizabeth moving swiftly behind her. "I won't lie to you, it's hard to seek someone out that I don't know well. Really it was by chance that I was able to see him last time…Jack was with him." Elizabeth watched as Isabelle leaned against the rail. "It might not work."

"Please….try?" Elizabeth begged. "I just want to know that he's alright…that he's as safe as can be expected…"

Isabelle nodded and faced the wide ocean. She stared at the wake of the ship and saw a dolphin leap through the crests and fresh turned water. She remembered a lesson that Kapil had taught her about using things in nature to channel her thoughts. It had worked when she was trying to guide her thoughts to something narrow, it had taught her focus. She had never tried it, but understood that it would work the opposite way as well. She would use the _Pearl_ as an anchor point, the focus and cast her thoughts outward along the wake, using it as a sort of directional agent. She went slowly at first, and eventually found the pod of dolphins racing along behind the _Black Pearl._ Even the marine life could not match the speed of the fastest ship in the Caribbean. It would work, the wake was a conducive channel. She cast her thoughts out across the sea and felt herself pulled along the tops of the waves. In her mind, she flew across the vast oceans. She relished the feeling of it. It was freedom in its most base form. But she had to focus; she could not enjoy the freedom garnered from such a moment when there was work to be done.

Elizabeth watched and saw the smile cross Isabelle's face and hope welled up within her. She hoped it meant Will was well.

"He's safe." Isabelle said finally. Her voice was weak and her eyes remained shut. To Elizabeth, it seemed as if Isabelle was a long way off, even though she was standing beside her. Isabelle spoke again. "He's aboard a ship."

"_Strange thing to come across a longboat so far out in open waters."_

"_Just put as many leagues behind us as you can. As fast as you can."_

"He's running from someone." Isabelle said translating what she was seeing in her mind. "There's a dress…." Isabelle began to slip deeper into the vision. She could smell the warm aroma of coffee that permeated the wood of the trade ship. "And a ship…"

"What's going on here?" Jack snapped seeing the two women at the back of the ship. Elizabeth shushed him.

"She's looking for Will, she says he's safe on a ship, but is running from someone." Elizabeth said filling Jack in on the situation.

"_Colors?"_

"_Not flying any."_

"_Pirates!"_

"_Or worse…"_

"Oh God…" Isabelle breathed. Her eyes snapped open and she stared intently into the bright blue Caribbean sky. Her eyes were silvery white and seemed sightless. She was fully immersed in the vision, pulled like a rag doll into a whirlpool. Try as she might she could not get out.

"Isabelle, what's happening?" Elizabeth practically shrieked. Isabelle seemed not to hear and maintained a death grip on the _Pearl_. Her fingers occasionally dug into the salt soaked wood and her breaths came fast, as if she'd run a great distance. She was fighting to break the vision's hold on her.

Elizabeth was terrified. _"What have I done? Why did I allow her to do this?"_

There was a terrible sound in Isabelle's head and she saw a great tentacle slip up from the side of the ship before it began its horrible work destroying the _Edinburgh Trader_; the monster appendage treating the ship as if it were a toy. Masts cracked and splintered, decking was cleaved in two, and sailors were flung hither and yon across the water. Will Turner seemed to be everywhere at once and Isabelle followed his movements across and above the deck. She saw men grasped by the huge tentacles and flung away, she saw their bodies broken like toys and she heard their screams.

"Isabelle?" Jack reached a hand out tentatively in spite of the un-ease her chill gaze gave him. He thought the physical contact might draw her back but it was useless. Instead, in answer to his plea, she said the last thing he wanted to hear.

"It's the Kraken." Her voice breathless and weak and Jack felt a chill emanate from his hand on Isabelle's shoulder and shoot up his arm.

The whole scene played out over the course of ten minutes, and through the whole of it, Jack and Isabelle were forced to watch as Isabelle dealt with the horrors on her own. There was nothing they could do to help. Isabelle's blonde hair swept across her shoulders and over her cheeks, but she didn't even notice it, her eyes reflecting liquid silver and open to them. Finally she saw the death blow for the poor _Edinburgh Trader_, the ship snapped in half as if it were made from balsa wood and not heavy oak. It was then that she was finally able to pull free of the terrible vision and bring herself back.

Jack and Elizabeth, and several curious pirates who had heard the concerned shouts of their captain and Miss Swann watched as Isabelle finally pushed away from the rail and fell sobbing on the deck. Elizabeth knelt across from her but was unsure of how she could help. Jack moved to reach a hand out to touch Isabelle's shoulder when he saw the black spot blossoming upon his palm. Suddenly, the sobbing woman on his deck was the least of his worries and he had a deep unrelenting desire for the jar of dirt that Tia Dalma had given him. He disappeared from the scene before too many people noticed.

"What happened? Isabelle?! What happened? What did you see?" Elizabeth bombarded her with questions.

"He's alright….He's alright, he survived." Isabelle said weakly. "He's the only one to survive…." Mr. Norrington knelt down between Isabelle and Elizabeth and watched as Isabelle continued to sob. "They killed all the others…."

"What is she talking about?" Mr. Norrington asked Elizabeth but Elizabeth was unable to answer him and could only stare dumbly at the other woman. Isabelle sniffled once and then shook her head, clearing it of the remnants of the vision as one would clear a slate. She reached for the rail behind her and pulled herself to her feet but collapsed as the deck bobbed violently beneath her and fell into the arms of James Norrington.

"Land Ho!" Someone shouted above them. James looked down into the red rimmed eyes of the blonde woman he held.

"Isabelle?" Elizabeth asked tentatively.

"I'll be alright…you have to prepare to go ashore." Isabelle stood slightly straighter but kept a tight grasp on James Norrington's waist coat.

"Where's Jack?" Elizabeth asked, finally realizing that Jack had snuck away. "He was here a moment ago…" With one last glance at Isabelle, Elizabeth moved off down the deck to prepare to go ashore to look for the chest, the heart and the way for her to save Will.

"Are you alright?" James asked. Isabelle moved across the deck and sat heavily upon a large sea chest on deck and closed her eyes as she rested her head in her hands. "What happened?"

"It's nothing." Isabelle said. "Just an episode."

"Episode? Like the one you had the other night?"

"The other…" Isabelle grasped her hair in her hand as she looked up at Mr. Norrington. Unsure what he was talking about, and weak from the vision, she didn't quite understand his question. Then she remembered her first night aboard the _Pearl_ and the 'episode' with the hurricane that she'd stumbled on. She hadn't really thought that that dream belonged to Mr. Norrington. She slowly nodded her head and took a deep breath. "Yes, something like that…only _much_ stronger."

"Is there anything I can do?" He asked kneeling before her. He watched as she took another slow, deep breath and sat up a little straighter. "Anything I can get you?"

"No. You need to go ashore as well…" Isabelle stood up to prepare herself, but was still too weak to do so and fell against Mr. Norrington.

"This is becoming all too familiar, Miss Beckett." James whispered down to her. Isabelle rested her head against his chest and wished that the darkness that was threatening to engulf her would abate long enough for her to get to her cabin under her own power.

"Not by my choice, I assure you." Isabelle made one more effort to step away but was forced to rely on Mr. Norrington. "I'm just so tired…."

Without waiting for another moment to pass by, James Norrington swept her up and carried her below decks to her own cabin where she could sleep off the effects of the terrifying vision she'd witnessed.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. I really appreciate the reviews I've gotten and I appreciate your patience with me for not posting sooner. Hopefully they'll come faster now that I'm back from vacation. Have a great week!**


	10. Lost

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I only rewrote this chapter about ten times. Hopefully things will happen faster now that I got this speed bump out of the way. Enjoy and please review!!!!**

* * *

Isabelle came slowly back into herself from the wonderful darkness she had been blanketed in. She felt the sun warm on her face and hands and could see it's bright light even through her closed eyelids. She felt and heard a gust of win play across her cheek and she smelled the freshness of the breeze. It took her a moment to realize where she was. She was not in Port Royal and she was not in India. She had to struggle to remember what had happened the past few weeks and how she had managed to find herself in her current place.

Even if she didn't know where that current place might be.

She knew she was not in India because the breeze was not fragrant with the warm aromas of curry, saffron and jasmine. She knew she was not in Port Royal because she could not smell wood smoke or the aroma of roses from the garden that one of the serving girls had taken to cutting and bringing in to scent her room. She also knew she wasn't in Port Royal because she was not in a soft bed.

Slowly she opened her eyes and tried to think about where exactly she might be. She had been on Captain Jack Sparrow's ship the _Pearl._ That hadn't been a dream either. Above her, a ragged piece of canvas was pulled tight and stood out in stark contrast to the brilliant Caribbean blue sky. A light mist touched her cheek, her other cheek was buried against a pillow of medium quality wool. The contrast of the rough wool and gentle sea spray served to confuse her already befuddled brain. She remembered being aboard the _Pearl _and using her sight—whether it be gift or curse she wasn't sure—to help rest Elizabeth's mind. Perhaps she had been worse of than she'd thought and the crew had brought her above decks for some fresh air in an effort to revive her. She wanted to rise up but her shoulders, arms, hands and neck all hurt. She closed her eyes as the muscles in her neck and shoulders tightened and she opened her hands against the searing pain that had shot through them when she'd clenched them. She heard movement and then the light that had glowed through her eyelids dimmed.

"Miss?" Isabelle opened her eyes again and saw Mr. Norrington gazing back at her. He had helped her to her cabin she had thought. Perhaps she had been imagining things and he had merely lain her upon the deck. "Miss Beckett?"

"What's going---?" Isabelle's voice was hoarse and cracked on the end of her sentence. She coughed dryly and tried to sit up. Mr. Norrington lifted her into an upright position and tipped a water skin to her lips.

"Drink slowly—" he admonished but he didn't have to. She heard his thoughts buffer against hers as loud as thunder. "_We need to conserve it."_

"Thank you." Isabelle said as she found her voice. Now that she was sitting up she saw the vast emptiness of ocean that surrounded the small boat she and James Norrington found themselves in.

James Norrington watched as her eyes scanned the empty horizons and saw the confusion furrow her brow.

"Where are we?" She asked turning her warm brown eyes to him. "How on earth did I get here?"

"Don't you know?"

"No…" Isabelle looked around her again. "The last thing I remember was being aboard the _Pearl_—." She looked back to him. "You and I were—you helped me…"

"You remember nothing after that?"

"No." Isabelle put her hands against the bottom of the boat and tried to push herself against the side but hissed when her hands felt as if they were on fire.

"Let me see your hands." Mr. Norrington grasped her wrist and held her hand so he could look at her palms. They were cracked, red, and bleeding in places. IN a flash she saw herself rowing the boat towards Isle La Cruces. She shook her head and watched as Mr. Norrington tried to cover the open sores on her hands with his handkerchief. "It isn't much, but at least you won't have salt burning—"

"Thank you." Isabelle interrupted him and smiled meekly. She held her hands close to her and watched as Mr. Norrington moved back to the stern of the tiny boat where he lifted one of the oars into the air. He braced the blade against the bottom of the boat and stared at the opposite end where two ropes extended towards the bow where they were attached to the corners of the canvas. The canvas quickly caught the wind and the boat leapt forward. "Brilliant…" Isabelle said as she watched the process. Mr. Norrington grinned as she praised his simple mechanics. "Won't your arms get tired?"

"Less tired than if I were rowing." He answered. He bit his lip and leaned back against the oar, shifting his weight to ensure the rigged sail stayed full of the prevailing winds. "We move faster as well."

Isabelle stayed silent and hugged herself as their little craft skipped across the waves. Soon, the rhythm of the keel skipping across the water and the steady rush of the waves and the wind began to lull her to sleep.

She awoke only when her cheek bounced painfully off the boat's gunnels. She sat up and touched the painful scrape against her cheek. She had dreamt she had been running through the jungle and had been hit in the face by a low hanging palm frond or vine. She regained her senses and looked to where Mr. Norrington sat at the stern staring at her with a small smile playing on his lips.

"You laugh at me, sir. I do not like it."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh…are you alright?"

"I think so." She shook her head a little and stared at where the sun was beginning to slip into the sea.

"You remember something?" She looked back at the dark haired man at the stern and nodded.

"Aye. I remember running through the woods. I rowed this boat to shore, though I don't know how I got into it and I ran and ran trying to find something…" She drifted off as Mr. Norrington nodded.

"You seemed disoriented when I came across you, but you led me straight to this dinghy. I was quite relieved actually. Is that all you remember?"

She saw it clearer now. She remembered seeing Mr. Norrington running wildly through the woods looking over his shoulder. When he looked back to the front he seemed shocked to see her.

"_What are you doing here? Are there others?"_ She had shaken her head and held her hand out. He grasped it tightly in his and, as she grasped the hem of her skirts in her other hand and together they had sprinted through the jungle as fast as her legs could carry her. But she didn't remember anything after meeting up with him. Frustrated, she nodded her head.

"Yes…for now. But my memories will come back eventually."

"This happens often?" Isabelle shook her head. "I don't mean to pry…"

"No, it's alright. I'm just tired and confused…."

"You look a little pale; perhaps you should lie down…."

"Yes…maybe I'll…." But Isabelle didn't have a chance to lie down or rest. A terrible vision flashed before her and practically threw her against the bench. She screamed, but was unable to withdraw from the vision, so complete was its hold on her.

James Norrington quickly rushed to her side and tried to calm her as she screamed.

"Oh God! Oh God! He's dead!" She screamed. The sky had turned pale and she sobbed and sobbed into James Norrington's shoulder. A great pain tore at her chest where her heart beat rapidly she cried out as the pain threatened to drive the breath from her. It felt as if someone had stabbed her.

"What is it? What's wrong?" But she couldn't tell him. She couldn't make him understand. Jack Sparrow was dead. She had seen it as plain as she saw James Norrington now. She gasped and held fast to James' sleeves as he continued to try to calm her. She saw Jack turn to look up into the great maw of a gigantic sea creature. A huge tentacle wrapped around the _Pearl_ and Jack stared up as the great creature growled and spit at him. She heard him utter the words "_Hello Beastie"_ and draw his sword. Jack had been brave in the end and had died fighting aboard the decks of his precious ship. The _Pearl _was completely covered and destroyed by the Kraken's mighty appendages and Jack and the _Black Pearl_ disappeared forever. She and he were connected. She had always known where Jack was, and now he was gone. It was as if a part of her had been torn out. "He's dead and gone…!!!"

"Who's dead?" But Isabelle couldn't answer him as she continued to sob. James Norrington passed her the water skin but she refused it. She pulled away from him and held fast to the gunnels and sobbed her heartache out. Eventually her sobs ceased and she lay with her head against the worn wood. She stared forlornly out at the sea as the small boat rose and fell on the sea. The sky turned from bright blue to a soft pink and then lavender, but still she did not move. She hurt all over, she hurt too greatly, and she did not know what to do.

James had watched her from his spot at the stern of the small boat. He had given up with the sail when she had begun her keening and hadn't the heart or energy to take it up again lest she have another episode. There was something about this girl that she wasn't telling him. He kept his eye on her as he reached beneath his feet and felt the leather pouch. The bag swelled and subsided with the slow deliberate beat of Davy Jones' heart. James withdrew his hand from the strange object and kept his eye on the girl. He didn't want her finding this strange artifact and growing more disturbed. He feared for her sanity already, she didn't need to see the still beating heart of a mysterious and mythical (if only too real) pirate captain.

"Are you cold?"

"No." Her voice was hoarse from screaming, but she didn't move from her spot.

"Are you thirsty?"

"No." She whispered. She was, but she just wanted to be left alone. She didn't dare go to sleep for fear of seeing Jack's death replay itself again and again. Tears slid down her cheeks again and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She slowly sat up as she took a deep breath and moved to the bow of the ship where she could sit wither back against the ribs of the small boat. Something buffered against her consciousness and she tried to shake it off. There was a great heartache that she was picking up on and she sniffled again and tried to ward it off. She chanced a glance at Mr. Norrington but looked away again as his eye caught hers.

"Would you like to talk about it?" She shook her head. "Sleep some. It will do you good. You've had a trying day."

"I can't sleep. I daren't sleep." James reached into a small calico bag that was tucked beneath the bench before him and withdrew a piece of salt pork.

"Then you should eat something. It's not the fare you're probably used to, but it's better than an empty belly."

"Thank you…" She took the piece of meat and chewed on it. He was right, it was disgusting tasting, but it felt at least a little better to fill the empty void with in her. It stopped her stomach from growling but it didn't fill the void that hurt her the most. Nothing ever would.

* * *

Isabelle stayed awake the whole night and watched as the sun rose into a dusty pink dawn. James Norrington woke when the sun had inched just above the horizon.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No, I didn't." Isabelle said. "I'm not tired. What exactly is your plan?"

"Plan?"

"Mr. Norrington, in case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of the Caribbean in a small boat with a limited supply of fresh water and food." James Norrington rubbed at his face and smiled.

"You're very astute."

"A blind man could see that this isn't the best of situations to be in." Isabelle shuddered as James' plan unfolded un-bidden before her. His plan involved sailing towards the shipping lanes and hoping to be picked up by a merchant. He voiced his thoughts and Isabelle nodded politely. She needed to sleep, but was afraid of what would happen if she did.

She dozed through the day, waking up every time some other consciousness touched on hers. The heartache was deeper than ever, but she was too weak to fight it off. As the sun set on the second day of being at sea James struck up a conversation with her.

"How did you come to be aboard the _Pearl?_" He asked as he tucked the oar into the boat and began folding the canvas.

"It's a long story."

"We have the time." Isabelle looked up at him as he continued to fold the canvas. There was something about this man that she felt as if she could trust.

"I wouldn't know where to start…"

"The beginning is always a good place." Isabelle pushed the hair from her face and tried not to smile. "You should smile more. You are a very serious young lady."

"I'm not all that young." She smiled more. "I'm not that much younger than you."

"Well, you're still young; too young to have such a gloomy outlook on life."

"I suppose." Isabelle stared at him as he sat on the opposite side of the boat from her and reached into the small food bag to take out the last of the salt pork. He broke it in half and handed her the larger of the two chunks. "If I tell you my beginnings, will you keep it a secret?"

"Madame, I am…was…a member of his majesty's royal navy. I would never divulge a lady's secret if she requested it be kept. I'd die before revealing anything." She shuddered as she felt his disappointment in not being in the navy. He had been proud of his service and of being a relatively young commodore. Now he was a rum soaked and displaced man of hardly any means at all.

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to die, but I wouldn't want my humble beginnings on the lips of the ladies of Port Royal."

"My lips are sealed." He said raising his right hand. And so Isabelle told him her story. She told him of being one of the unfortunates held in Bedlam Asylum and of being adopted by Lord Beckett. She did not tell him why she was in the asylum, or why she was adopted. That was too dark a secret to share. She spoke of India and of watching Cutler gain control of the company. It felt wonderful to her to finally reveal some of her shadowed past to another person.

"And now he sends me out as if I too am an employee and not his sister." Isabelle looked up at Mr. Norrington who was staring intently back at her. "I'm sorry, you didn't really need to hear all of that…."

"I wouldn't have asked you to share your story with me if I hadn't wanted to know."

"And what of your story?" Isabelle asked. "How does a former navy man find himself in a small boat in the middle of the Caribbean?"

"I ran into some trouble." He said shortly. "I know it is unfair after you shared your story with me. But there are chapters I'd sooner gloss over and forget than voice aloud. Just as you've glossed over some of yours."

Isabelle stared at Norrington. How had he known? She nodded graciously though and eventually, somehow, managed to nod off.

* * *

Dreams woke her. She had dreamt of the hurricane again and had seen the young lieutenant bashed against the mast. She wished she were anywhere but trapped in a small boat in the middle of a wide and open sea.

The day passed slowly. Their water was out, and so was their food. More and more, Isabelle was fighting heartache and demons. She had dreamt of a dark skinned woman whose eyes sparkled wildly. She had a certain fire in her, perhaps it was an allure that drew a blue eyed captain to her. Isabelle admired the spark just as she had admired the spark in Elizabeth Swann. Why could she not capture that fire for herself? Why did she always feel so cold? As if to affirm her thoughts, she shivered in the bright sunlight. Mr. Norrington was asleep. He had not raised the sail at all, he had been too tired. They bobbed in the currents as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky. Isabelle moved in and out of consciousness. They were going to die. She was certain of that now. Their sun baked bodies would be found drifting in this horrible little craft days or weeks from now. Cutler would not mourn her; he'd feel as if he had been released from a heavy burden. She had to keep control of her imagination. It was too horrible to think about.

* * *

The sound of a bell tolled across the waves. Isabelle thought it might be the sound of a bell signaling her death. _That's crazy talk._

There it was…distant and faint, the ringing of a bell. Isabelle blinked her eyes against the afternoon sun and strained her ears to listen again. Yes, a bell…she was certain of it now. She pulled herself up and looked around. Each time the boat bobbed to the top of a wave she looked to the distant horizon.

Up—Nothing to the South—and down.

Up—Nothing to East—and down

Up—Nothing to the North—and down.

She had to roll over to look over her shoulder.

Up—there it was! There was a ship!—and down.

Had she been mistaken?

Up—she wasn't! There, silhouetted against the bright horizon, right below the pale yellow disc of the sun was a large ship!—and down.

She looked at James Norrington where he slept across from her. She crawled towards him and looked down at the man she'd been stuck with for the better part of three days. He was sunburned, she knew she was burned as well, her skin hurt and chafed when her gown rubbed against the exposed skin. He had given her his jacket to use as a pillow when the waves the night before had gotten too strong and her head had been lolling across the ribs of the small craft.

"Mr. Norrington…" She croaked as she tried to rouse him. "James?" He did not move. She heard the bell clang again and looked to where it was starting to disappear. She closed her eyes and focused on the craft. She reached out with her mind and barely managed to see the stern of the ship. It was familiar, and it flew East India colors from its stern.

The one man she had been brave enough to run from was now the one man she must call to for aid. Mr. Mercer was aboard that ship.

"James?" Isabelle tried to shake him again, but she got no response. She was too weak to call out on her own to the ship. She opened her palm and placed it over James' chest, near where his heart was. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she extended her other hand towards the ship. She had to channel her energy towards the ship, she couldn't let it disperse when the boat went—

Up—as the boat capped the next wave she cast out her thoughts and focused on the stern where she knew Mr. Mercer had a fondness to stand and stare at the men working amidships. Like a thunderbolt she impressed upon him the image of the small boat and its relationship to his ship.

_Thou shall not suffer a witch to live._

She was thrown back from Mr. Mercer and spiraled into darkness once again.

* * *

James Norrington stirred slowly and felt the pressure upon his chest and shoulder. He reached up and grasped at a hand that rested on his chest. It was cold, and small and weak. He turned his head to the side and saw Isabelle's golden head lying against his shoulder. Even in sleep she seemed troubled, as if there was darkness everywhere she turned, even in her dreams. He sat up slowly, grasping the girl's slim waist in his hand as he pulled her back towards him. He gently cradled her head as he laid her flat in the bottom of the boat. Her right sleeve was soaked where it had been dangling into the water outside the small craft.

"Ahoy!" James looked up and saw a large merchant ship sailing towards them. He smiled. Isabelle must have seen it and had tried to wake him, but had fallen asleep herself. In spite of the sun that colored them both, she looked ashen and pale. He touched her cheek and felt that it too was as cold as her hand had been. She was as cold as….

"Isabelle?!" He grasped her shoulder and shook her gently. Her eyes fluttered and she groaned, but she would not wake. "Isabelle, we are to be rescued…" He stood on shaky legs and waved his arm above his head. "Ahoy! Help!!" IT took little time for the ship to come close to the small craft and James caught the line the sailors on deck tossed towards him. They pulled his craft in close and two sailors shimmied down rope ladders to help secure the craft for winches.

"Oy, there's a girl here…" one of them said as they began to tie knots into the davits at the bow and stern of the little boat. "Were you wrecked mate?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes." James NOrrington said as he helped secure another rope to steady the boat. "She's ill, she needs medical care."

"We'll have the surgeon look to her."

"You have a surgeon aboard?"

"Aye, a traveler. Bartered passage with our captain."

"Thank heaven." James sat beside Isabelle and waited as the small boat was brought to the deck. He leapt to the deck and then gently lifted Isabelle's body from the boat.

"Where can I take her?" James turned his gaze at the other men on deck and followed a man below decks to place Isabelle in a hard sided cradle bunk that hung from the ceiling. Two other men had followed him in and one went right to Isabelle's side, the other, garbed in black stared at James.

"Who are you sir, and how did you find yourself with Miss Beckett?" The man's voice had the distinct lilt of the Scottish highlands.

"My name is James Norrington, formerly of his majesty the King's navy and I came to be in the company of Miss Beckett by chance."

"Really? Did you know that her brother holds a warrant for your arrest?" The man's dark eyes glittered like pieces of coal.

"I did. But I hold a pardon, and have information for his Lordship."

"We should put into Port Royal on the morrow. Pray she survives, or no pardon the king may write will save you."

"She will survive." The surgeon said with a sigh. "No need for dramatics, gentleman. She is merely weak and dehydrated. My prescription is rest and fresh water." James looked down at Isabelle's pale form where she rocked in the narrow bunk. She would survive. He was glad of that.

"You must be tired as well." The surgeon said. "I'm sure you're as dehydrated as she. Come, sit and drink."

"I'll return within the hour to bring you to your quarters, Mr. Norrington."

"Your name sir?" James demanded.

"Mr. Mercer. I'm an emissary for his Lordship." And with a shallow bow, Mr. Mercer backed from the room. James drank deeply from a cup and watched as the surgeon bathed Isabelle's face and lips with cool water, trying to bring her temperature down. She would survive, and so would he.

He was sure of that.


	11. Homecoming

Isabelle began to feel better but she was still weak. As the merchant ship pulled into Port Royal, she stood at the rail to watch the city come into view. She found it hard to believe that two and a half weeks had gone by since the world had been turned up side down. Only two weeks ago she had been sure of the world and Jack Sparrow had been alive.

"Your brother will want to see you." Mr. Mercer drawled behind her. Isabelle turned slowly to face him.

"As soon as I have a chance to freshen up, I shall meet him…"

"Oh no! He'll be wanting to see you immediately—he was most distressed when I reported your disappearance." Isabelle was still too tired to fight back. She stared at Mr. Mercer as the boat was eased next to the dock and the mooring lines secured.

"If you insist Mr. Mercer."

"I do." If he wasn't such a cold hearted man Isabelle would have sworn he smiled at her. In fact, considering the degrading nature of the situation she found herself in, she was sure he was smiling at her. He was probably enjoying her discomfort. She moved slowly down the gang plank. Her head spun and she felt exhausted after moving just the short distance from deck to dock. She leaned against one of the many barrels of freight took a moment to catch her breath.

"Miss Beckett!" Isabelle turned to see Mr. Norrington coming down the gang way towards her. "If I may?" He extended his arm towards her and she gratefully accepted it. "Lean on me." He whispered. He knew that she still hadn't regained all of her strength and had seen the look on her face when she was leaning on the freight.

"Thank you Mr. Norrington." She said as he guided her towards the end of the dock. "I'm afraid I'm not quite up to strength yet."

"I understand. I wish that I at least had an opportunity to shave before meeting his lordship. It would seem that he's overly anxious to meet with us."

"Yes, I too wish that-----" The vision of the blue eyed captain and the dark skinned woman over whelmed her and would have brought her to her knees if not for James Norrington's arm. He paused and quickly wrapped an arm around her waist supporting her.

"Are you alright?" He said looking down at her. For a moment Isabelle was sure she was looking up at the old captain, but slowly the face shifted back to that of James Norrington. She nodded her head slowly.

"I will be."

"This way Miss Beckett, Mr. Norrington." Mr. Mercer was at the top of the dock standing beside a carriage emblazoned with the company logo on the door. James handed Isabelle up into the coach and sat across from her and Mr. Mercer climbed in beside him. Isabelle rested her head against the plush blue interior and shut her eyes. Part of her wished that the ride to the Company headquarters would last forever, but the rest of her was glad that it was a short ride. She felt cheerless, drained, and cold. Jack Sparrow was gone; everything seemed dark and cold to her and she had been plagued with an inability to block out others' thoughts and emotions. The carriage rattled to a stop and Isabelle climbed out of the carriage with Mr. Norrington's assistance. She followed Mr. Mercer into the big building and was overwhelmed by the number of clerks and merchants running back and forth across the marble foyer floor. Climbing the stairs to Cutler's office felt as if she were scaling a mountain.

"Wait here." Mr. Mercer said as they reached the office. Mr. Mercer went in and left James and Isabelle in the hallway. Isabelle leaned against the wall and glared at the merchant marine that stood close beside James Norrington. Mr. Mercer had left the door slightly cracked and she could hear their voices carry out to the corridor.

"The last of our ships has returned."

"Is there any news on the chest?" Cutler was impatient. The feeling pricked at her skin like hot nails.

"None. But we did pick up a man adrift at sea." Mercer was relishing the moment when he would tell Cutler of his triumph in finding Isabelle. Isabelle remembered the spark she admired in Elizabeth and in the mysterious woman from her vision. Feeling brave and too tired to stand in the hall any longer she swept open the door and strolled in to stand beside the green wing backed chair. "He had these." She saw Mercer stride forward and place a folio of documents on her brother's desk. The merchant marine, leading James Norrington had followed her in, and seeing what Mercer had placed upon the desk, James' eyes grew dark and he made his presence known. Lord or no, his lackey would not steal his thunder.

"I took the liberty of filling in my name." He said coldly. Lord Beckett looked at him and caught sight of Isabelle in the same sweep. He ignored her and motioned for James to step closer.

"If you intend to claim these, then you must have something to trade. D'you have the compass?"

"Better." James reached into his coat and pulled out a leather bag and flung it carelessly on the desk top. Isabelle gasped as her head was filled with a shrill shrieking sound. Every eye in the room was drawn to the leather pouch that throbbed as if it had a life of its own. "The heart of Davy Jones." Beckett stared a moment at the throbbing sack on his desk and then locked eyes on Isabelle. She was a disheveled wreck and her eyes, focused as they were on the small bag seemed sightless to him. She was not seeing what they were seeing. He rose from his desk and stepped toward her.

"Isabelle, are you well?" He asked with a knowing smile as he came near her. He glanced at her hands where her fingertips ghosted over the raised embroidery of the green brocade. When he looked back to her face she was only just tearing her gaze from his desk.

"What?"

"Are you unwell?" He said again.

"Yes. I have been ill for some time." Cutler leaned in close to her.

"You can sense it, can't you?" He whispered. "You can feel it; it really is the heart, isn't it?"

"Yes." She whispered back. "Please—I can't be here. I can't be near it."

"Not until you tell me everything I want to know."

"My lord…." James Norrington said from his spot by the desk, but was silenced when Cutler held his hand up.

"Did I ask you?" When Norrington didn't speak Cutler turned back to Isabelle. "Tell me, why did you skip off in Tortuga? How did you manage to meet with him?" He nodded at the former Commodore who strained to hear their conversation.

"I got lost in Tortuga. I managed to find my way to the docks where I found Captain Sparrow's ship. I stowed away." Isabelle glanced over Cutler's shoulder at Norrington willing him to be silent as she was about to lie. "They had no idea I was on board. When they went to shore, I followed in a separate boat."

"Quite the criminal. You can take the girl out of the poor house, but you can't take the poor house out of the girl."

"Captain Sparrow is dead." Every eye turned toward her. "He's dead, you have nothing to fear from him anymore."

"You are sure of this?" She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The heart beat again on the desk, loud in the silence of Cutler's office. "You saw it in a vision?" Again, she nodded. Cutler returned to his desk and sat down in the carved chair. He glanced at the heart on his desk and at the woman who his father had adopted. If she was right, then he now controlled the sea as no other could, and no one could stop him.

"You have done well. You may go home, Isabelle. Rest, Sister, for you have had a very difficult trip." Isabelle shuddered at the endearment and nodded numbly. She would have run from the room had she any strength at all left to her. She didn't even bother to shut the door and moved slowly up the hall.

Clerks moved in and out of board rooms and traders railed at accountants who pinched every pound and shilling possible from the merchants. The corridor swam ahead of her and she had to brace herself against a table top. A brocade upholstered chair stood beside it and she sat heavily in it and rested her head against the polished mahogany of the table. The wood felt cool to her sunburned face and she relished the feeling of it. She focused on the place where her forehead touched the table and willed the rest of the world; the shouting, the heat, the fire, the storms, to melt away. She nearly teetered from the chair and slid to the floor but was caught and held upright by strong hands.

_Why? Why won't they ever let me disappear? Why can I never just slip away unnoticed?_

She opened her eyes and focused on James Norrington staring intently at her.

"Miss Beckett? Isabelle?" She felt blissfully numb suddenly and had to concentrate all her energy to listen to him. "What's the matter? What can I do….?"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me about that thing?" A tear slid slowly down her cheek and her head lolled backwards. She should be angry with him! He had kept the secret of the heart from her. If he had told her about it, she would have known from whence the strange visions had come! She could have blocked them out!

"I didn't want you to be afraid…I didn't know…"

"I could have fought it if I had known. I could have defended myself…"She gulped as another beat rent the air around her, but all were oblivious to it. She thought if the heart beat any louder the walls would begin to crack.

"Fought? Defended? Isabelle what are you talking about?" Mr. Norrington was confused but he was unable to get an answer from her. A liveried footman was suddenly beside him and was sweeping Isabelle up and away even as her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness.

"Miss Beckett is a very sick young woman." Mr. Mercer said. "She'll be cared for at home. You will leave your lodging information with the clerk downstairs, that we may better find you when the time comes." Mr. Mercer swept down the stairs after the footman and left James Norrington alone in the headquarters hall.

Isabelle's dreams were filled with strange images. She thought that she might review Jack's death, or even some of the nightmares burned into her mind from her stay so many years ago in Bedlam Asylum, but none of those scenarios were visited upon her.

Instead, she saw candles on dark water, fire in the water, and a soft, swirling mist that blended everything together. A steady beat echoed through the skeletal cypresses as they stretched up into a blue gray night. She saw a house tucked amongst the cypresses, and a warm yellow light filtered out of it to reflect in the black water, and in the eyes of the various creatures that inhabited the dark waters. Even in such a serene place she felt an incredible amount of guilt. It weighed her down like a stone; she was afraid it would drown her in the black waters beneath her.

She awoke with a gasp and realized she was not in the swamp any longer. Her room smelled of roses, not stagnant water and decay. The walls were bathed in silver blue light from a half moon that hung over the protected cove of Port Royal. Dark shadows reached up to claw at the ceiling and decorative plaster work. Where had she been? Why had she been in that bayou? She didn't have long to think about it before she sank back into her dream.

The golden light from the bayou shack illuminated jars filled with things that crawled, slithered, stared, or had once crawled, slithered and stared. As Isabelle looked around she saw Mr. Gibbs, Pintel and Ragetti. She saw William Turner throwing a knife into a carved up table top. That explained the dull thunk-ing noise that filled the air. In the corner of the room Mr. Cotton, the tongue-less man, stood staring at the various objects. Elizabeth looked as if she had the weight of the entire world upon her shoulders. The dark skinned woman Isabelle had seen in a few of her other visions brought mugs of something hot for the pirates. Isabelle pulled away from them and woke again in her own room. Why had she been drawn to that? What had the purpose been. She sobbed softly into the darkness and wished the sun would rise and end the horrible dreams. A maid came in and helped her drink some water and before the sky had lightened too much, Isabelle went back to sleep.

She was thankful, her sleep was deep and dark and was not plagued with any dreams at all. When she did wake, the sun was low in the sky and the doors that opened onto her balcony stood open. The light weight curtains billowed in the breeze that smelled of salt blowing in from the sea.

"So, you're finally awake?" Isabelle turned away from the colorful scene of Port Royal to face Lord Cutler Beckett. "Back with the living?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'm very glad to hear it." Isabelle closed her eyes and sighed. "So, is the heart really the heart of Davy Jones?"

"My lord, what other heart would beat independently of its owner's body?" Isabelle said as she stared at Lord Beckett. "I have been plagued by a vision of a man and woman. I'm assuming it's Jones and the woman he loved."

"Jones only loved the sea." Cutler said.

"No. There was a woman…_as chang-ing, and harsh, and untamable as the sea. Him never stopped loving her. But the pain it cause 'im was too much to live wid. But not enough to cause him to die."_ Cutler stared at her as if she'd grown a new head upon her shoulders. The voice had not been her own but from whence it came, she did not know.

"You are sure of this?"

"Yes."

"And who was this woman?"

"I don't know." Isabelle shook her head. "I don't know…." Cutler patted her hand where it lay on top of the coverlet in a brotherly fashion.

"You've done well, Isabelle. I look forward to doing business with you again." Isabelle shuddered. She really had been bought and paid for. She was his toy, his play thing, and until he chose to release her, or she broke, she was going to be his for a very long time yet.


	12. Confusion

Isabelle sat in the library and picked at the peeling skin on the back of her hand. It had been a week since her return to Port Royal and, as per Cutler's request; she had been rebuffing social calls and invitations. She sighed as she let a large flake of skin drift to the floor.

"I do wish you wouldn't do that Isabelle, dear." Cutler said as he entered the room. Isabelle sighed again and stood. "You must be feeling better if you're down here."

"Yes my lord, thank you." Isabelle had to fight not to scratch at her skin where it was peeling in great sheets. She had noticed the peeling flakes a day or two before when she bathed and in spite of herself she had started to pick at the small patches. The small patches grew larger and larger and then her skin began to slough off in large, dry patches. Even her scalp was peeling. Her face had a great pink patch where the skin had peeled away above her right eyebrow and another area of pink showed on her left cheek where she'd fallen asleep in the small boat and struck it against the gunnels. It had bruised slightly and was only just beginning to fade. She looked like a leper. One of the house servants had promised to bring her the oil of a plant that would help alleviate the itching. Her chest and parts of her shoulders were also peeling. With any hope, she would be able to scrub herself free of the dead skin during her bath this evening. Cutler had resumed speaking and she focused on him instead of the annoying dillema of dead, dry, peeling skin.

"You look a fright. Are you sure you should be up and about?"

"Yes my lord." Isabelle shuddered involuntarily as Mr. Mercer walked in carrying a latched box. The air pulsed as a thunderous drumbeat rent the air around her and she realized what the chest contained. "You can't mean to keep that thing here!" She said stepping away from the chest as if it were a snake.

"Well, Isabelle, where else would I keep it? The safe here is far more secure than any down at the headquarters." Cutler smiled. "We wouldn't want this falling into the wrong hands, would we?"

"But Cutler…Lord Beckett," Isabelle was exasperated at his constant insistence for her use of his title. She quite suddenly realized she didn't know what to say to him.

"Yes Isabelle? You have something to say?"

"I have a request to make of you, though I'm not sure how to appeal to your better nature."

"By all means, speak your mind freely my dear."

"I can't stand being near that thing." Isabelle said pointing an accusatory finger at the chest in Mr. Mercer's hands. "I can't fight it; the heart of Captain Jones is far too strong for me. If you want me to be able to work for you, or assist you, then you must remove it."

"My dear, this is only a temporary arrangement. When I find a permanent solution to your problem, then I will inform you of it. Unfortunately I do require your further assistance in business matters. I'm also your brother, do you think I want to see harm come to you?" Cutler's eyes twinkled mercilessly as he enjoyed seeing her bristle. The heart of Davy Jones was turning out to be a much bigger asset than he ever would have thought. It would allow him control of the sea, control of Jones, and also control of Isabelle. It would keep her weak when he needed her to be submissive and would allow him to bend her to his will. She'd do anything to keep the heart far away from any place she was. And that, Cutler knew, was a valuable debt to hold someone to. "Now why don't you go rest, and do try not to pick at yourself."

Isabelle stared stonily at him as she curtsied. She held an extreme dislike for him at that moment as she realized for the second time in a week that he was using her as a pawn in his strange obsession with controlling the world. She stalked past Mr. Mercer and left the library, and the heart, as fast as she could. She stood in the foyer and felt the oppressive air of the house bear down on her. She needed fresh air; she wanted to feel the sun warm on her skin, even if she was suffering its ill effects. She went to her room and snatched a silk shawl from the chest at the foot of her bed and raced back down the stairs to the front door.

"Miss Isabelle?" Isabelle's hand hovered over the brass handle, the metal cool to her touch. "Where you be going miss?" She turned to face the dark skinned house servant and looked towards the library's heavy oak door.

"I need to go out Marye. I can't stay in any longer. Please don't mention it to Lord Beckett, I just want to go take a stroll about the garden." Isabelle was desperate.

"Alright Miss, but you'd best put a hat on to cover that pretty face of yours. It don't need no more sun than it already got." Isabelle nodded as the woman went to fetch a broad brimmed hat that would shield her face from the sun. She quickly tied the ribbon under her chin and then slipped out the door and into the fresh air and sunlight.

Crushed white shells shifted beneath her feet as she walked around the house and into the manicured gardens. Roses were in various stages of blooming all along the path and added a riot of color to the green and white world of the garden. There were white, red, yellow, and various shades of pink. They were tangled together in a mass of heavy heads that nodded in the breeze that came off the sea. There was something about the combination of the scents of roses and salt that made her head spin in a giddy way. It was a good, clean smell; it made her happy and calm. She wandered down the path farther and stepped through a gap in a short hedge and into a fragrant quadrant of the garden filled with fruit trees. She reached up and plucked a pear from a heavy branch and bit into the fruit. It was still tart for not being completely ripened, but it was juicy and sweet at the same time and refreshing. She strolled further through the trees and munched on the pear as she went. Something was bothering her but she wasn't sure what it was. She thought at first it was Cutler's reaction to her feelings about the heart. Then she thought it might have been her confinement to the big house that had been aggravating her. But even after spending time in the gardens, she still felt anxious about something, and she was far enough from the heart, and stronger now, that it was not having an effect on her. She shook her head and tossed the remainder of the pear into the grass before walking quickly back to the house.

Late that evening Isabelle stood on the balcony of her room. It had dawned on her at dinner why she had been so aggravated. Of all the people that had called on her, of all the people that had asked after her well being after her ordeal at sea, the only person she had not heard from was James Norrington, and he was the only one that she truly wanted to see. But she was torn at the same time. The part of her that was angry that he hadn't called on her was only half of her dilemma; her other half was thankful he was staying away. She was angry that he had kept the secret of the heart from her and she was hesitant to know what he thought after her little episode at the headquarters upon her return. Why had she told him she'd spent a part of her youth at Bedlam asylum? He knew too much…she had told him too much. He was avoiding her; he was afraid of her.

* * *

Isabelle swept down the stairs and held her arms out slightly to the sides and turned. Cutler stood with his hands behind his back and inspected her.

"Lovely. You would almost never be able to tell that you were lost at sea for a month."

"I'm glad you think so m'Lord." Isabelle said as she put on her gloves and picked up her fan. She smiled at his exaggeration for her time being gone. He picked up his cane and walked out the door and into the drive where the big coach, emblazoned with the company logo awaited them. It was Sunday, and they were going to church. She was not usually one for churches, considering what some practitioners would do to her if they found out about her visions, but considering how many weeks she had missed, and at Cutler's insistence, she would go, if only to make good appearances. She was actually quite fond of church, but had some problems with a few of the teachings. The small brick building was not far from their estate but Cutler would not be seen walking down the dusty street. The elite rode in carriages, the poor walked. Isabelle and Cutler strolled into the church and sat in their high-walled, private pew. She could hear people whispering and occasionally let her mind wander on an errant thought.

"_Look at her, she's so dark."_

"_I wonder where she's been the past few weeks."_

"_I thought her maid said she was ill. She's taken too much sun that's for sure. I wonder if the new fashion is to be as dark as a Native?"_

Isabelle stood and followed Cutler out of the church when the mass had ended. As they walked back towards the carriage she could feel everyone's eyes upon her. Standing beside Cutler she certainly did look as dark as a Native. She met a few of the curious gazes from the Port Royal rich and held her head a little higher. What did she care? She'd not let them back her down or make her feel ashamed. She continued to follow Cutler and cast her gaze about the gossiping colonists when her eyes met those of James Norrington lurking behind the elite, his eyes focused on her alone. Isabelle glanced his way but did not focus on him for long. She narrowed her eyes before averting them. Snapping her fan open she made as if she hadn't even seen him and allowed the footman to hand her up into the coach. She chanced a glance out of the window and saw him bow his head in her direction. She sat back and ignored him.

"Well Isabelle my dear. How did you enjoy church this morning?"

"Even when they are supposed to be worshipping God, they are gossip mongers." She said.

"Anything of interest?"

"Mostly about me." Isabelle said with a smile. "Surprised to see me about for the most part."

"Hmm, that's a pity. I was hoping there'd be more information to glean from them…who was cheating who, who could be used as a tool…"

"What they say in church is between them and God unless it's directed at me." Isabelle glared at Cutler. "I'll not spy on people's prayers and confessions."

"Of course not. What sort of man do you take me for?"

_A cold hearted one who would do, say and use anyone and anything to get the ends to his means…even if it meant harming them._

Isabelle looked away from Cutler's icy stare as a shiver ran up her spine. She knew it was true, but how could she think about her own brother that way?


	13. Not all things are meant to be told

Nearly a week had slipped by and Isabelle felt drained having entertained so many of the elite of Port Royal. After her appearance in church on Sunday they had all insisted on visiting her and asking her questions regarding her time away from the city. This evening she had begged out of a party and had retired early to Cutler's dismay.

"Isabelle dear, you have been shut up in here far too long, it would do you well!"

"_It would do him well to have me intercepting the weak and ferreting out the corrupt." _Isabelle thought. "My Lord, I am weary. It is too soon for me to have entertained so many. I should not have pushed myself so hard."

Cutler rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. "If that's what you think Isabelle. I shall return late tonight. If you are as tired as you say I won't expect you to be up when I return." He had stomped from the hall, followed by Mr. Mercer who stared at her with his cold dark eyes. She had pulled her shawl tight over her shoulders and had waited until the latch had clicked before she sank into the plush carpeting on the stairs with a contented sigh.

"Miss Beckett?" She looked up to see one of the house servants coming towards her, a concerned look in their eyes. "Are you well ma'am? Should I go call your brother back?"

"No. I was merely relieved to not have to go to this party this evening. It will be a relief to have the house to myself for the night."

"Is there anything I can do for you ma'am?"

"Yes. Could you have a tub drawn up for me? I'd like to take a bath this evening." The man bowed out of the room and went to make the necessary preparations for her bath. It took some time for the big tub to be brought to her hearth and then slowly it was filled with pail after pail of hot water. When it was finally full her maid helped her remove her gown and corset.

"I can undress myself the rest of the way, thank you." Isabelle said by way of dismissal.

"Would you like your hair pinned up miss?"

"No. That will be all." The girl left Isabelle standing before her wardrobe in her chemise. Isabelle's face and hands were still dark. Her arms and chest were as pale as the linen of her chemise. She laughed as she thought how comical she must look. She went to her vanity and picked up the big silver backed brush and ran it through her long blonde hair, stopping only occasionally to pull at a snag. Content that the tub had cooled to a decent temperature she slipped out of the last of her undergarments and slipped into the blissfully warm tub. She washed and rinsed her hair and then set to scrubbing the rest of her body. Content that she was pink and clean, she eased back in the tub and closed her eyes. She drifted off for a bit of time until the water began to cool and her fingertips and toes felt wrinkled and water logged. She rose from the tub and reached for the drying cloth that was hanging beside the fire. It was warm and smelled of cedar from where the maid had just pulled it from the chest. She thought that if she had been in India, she would have curled up upon her bed still wet and let the air dry her. But here in Port Royal, even though it was still tropical, the wind was slightly chill from the sea. She toweled the water from her hair and then went to her wardrobe to dress for bed. She had just tied the sash on her wrapper when the maid knocked and asked if the tub could be removed.

"Yes. I'll need no help the rest of the evening."

"Yes Miss Beckett." The girl dipped a curtsey and called for two strong kitchen boys to come up and remove the tub. Isabelle stayed behind a screen and began brushing her hair. When she was again alone she stepped out onto the cool marble of her balcony and stared down into the gardens. They had been wild when they had arrived. Cutler had spent a small fortune to make them neat and orderly. One dark plot showed where the rich soil had been torn up, the old plants removed and the new ones ready to be put in. She shook her head. Cutler always had to have everything 'just so,' a habit that often annoyed her. He even had a say in what she wore any more. She ran the brush through her hair a few more times before she sighed heavily and turned back towards her room. The glass of the lamp in her room shed a pink hue across the room and out into the silver light on the balcony. Her hair was still damp and she ran her brush through the long golden tresses as she went back inside hoping her hair would dry soon so she could plait it. She almost dropped the brush when an errant thought tripped lightly across her mind's eye.

_But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?  
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.  
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,  
Who is already sick and pale with grief,  
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:  
Be not her maid, since she is envious;  
Her vestal livery is but sick and green  
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.  
_

She raced back to the balcony and looked down into the deep shadows of the garden. The tall hedges cast long deep shadows and the moon slid behind dark clouds. She tapped her fingers against the rail of her balcony. Was someone standing in her garden, or was she merely imagining things? She went back inside and put her brush on her vanity, turned down the lamp and crawled beneath the covers of her bed.

Days later, dressed in her finest, Isabelle exited the big house and took the carriage to church. Cutler had begged off this day, saying that though it was the Sabbath, he had an important merchant coming to the house to discuss some urgent business.

Isabelle sat in the pew for several minutes after the service had ended silently contemplating her life thus far. There were many things she could be thankful for, but also things she regretted. She bowed her head and said a prayer for Jack, and also for Elizabeth and Will. She wasn't sure where they were, or what their plans were, but she knew that Governor Swann was worried for his daughter's well being. As she crossed herself and rose from her seat, she realized that she was worried for Elizabeth's well being as well. She had thought of Elizabeth as a friend and had not seen her since she had searched for Will to alleviate the girl's fears and trepidations.

The sun was high in the sky and it slightly blinded her as she exited the brick building. She opened her parasol and looked at the long line of carriages going back up the road to the manor houses and the poorer people walking back to their homes. Her carriage was no where in sight. She went to the edge of the street and stepped around a puddle filled with oozy gray-green mud. She looked up and down the street but still did not see her carriage.

"Miss Beckett?" She turned and stared as James Norrington strolled towards her.

"Mr. Norrington…good day to you." Isabelle said stiffly. The part of her that wanted nothing to do with James Norrington took hold of her and she wished he would sink into one of the deep puddles in the road.

"Yes, good day to you as well. Did you enjoy services this morning?"

"Yes sir, were you at church as well? I didn't see you."

"I was at the back. I'm not exactly front row material any more." Isabelle looked down at the hem of her gown and blushed lightly. She hadn't meant to insult him. She might hate him for knowing one of her darkest secrets, and for ignoring her because of it, but she didn't really want to hurt his feelings so. James Norrington saw the slight blush come to her cheeks and made an effort to change the subject. "Where is your carriage?"

"I don't exactly know." She looked back up the street and James saw that though he had diverted the subject of conversation from himself, he had served to further embarrass her. Even with her skin still dark from the effects of her sun burn, he could tell she was blushing from mortification. "I'll just have to walk home. Good day Mr. Norrington." She turned and quickly took fast strides back up the street and away from Norrington.

"Please, allow me to escort you." He said following behind her.

"That isn't necessary." She said softly. "Don't trouble yourself."

"It's no trouble at all." Norrington said keeping stride with her. "Please?"

"Why would you want to escort me?" Isabelle said shaking her head as she gathered the front of her skirt to cross the deeply rutted street.

"Well, for one, it is the proper and gentlemanly thing to do, and secondly, it would give me a chance to inquire after you." Isabelle was struck dumb and stared at him for a moment as they continued. He grasped her elbow and guided her around a puddle that she hadn't seen and smiled hesitantly at her. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I didn't think you cared. You hadn't called before, and we've been in Port Royal for some time."

"I did call on you. Your house keeper said you were taking no callers." Isabelle's jaw tightened and she shook her head. "Did no one inform you of my inquiries?"

"No, no one did. I was not accepting callers…but it would have been nice to know who had called that I might return the consideration. I wonder how many other people my staff has failed to inform me of."

"You're angry."

"Of course I am! Would you not be had someone kept something from you?"

"Aye. And I have been in the past. But the past is not what I wish to speak of." He said looking up the hill at the great houses that rose from the palm trees. "How have you fared?"

"I was ill. Sick with sun poisoning they say." She peeked up at him from beneath the edge of her parasol. "I don't much believe it. I spent a great deal of time in the sun in India and never felt ill effects before."

"But the degree to which you were exposed and the lack of water or good food had much to do with your illness I assume. That and….." he drifted off. He wasn't sure how to broach the subject of the heart.

"The heart?" Isabelle saw the beating, pounding leather sack in her mind's eye where Norrington had flung it upon the desk top. "I'm sure that did have an effect in the length of my illness."

"You said something….in the office. You told me if I had but mentioned my possession of the heart, you could have protected yourself…"

"I'd rather not talk about it." Isabelle said, closing her parasol and looping the strap around her wrist that she might be able to grasp her skirts in both hands and move quicker.

"And Jack Sparrow being dead? How did you know of that? Jack was alive when I left him, and unless you saw him die before you saw me in the woods, how would you have known?"

"Please…no more questions." Isabelle shook her head. They had finally arrived at the back garden gate. She fumbled with the latch frantically trying to open the heavy wrought iron gate. She had to get away from James Norrington's questions. She could not bear them.

She could not bear what was coming next.

Isabelle finally lifted the latch and was able open the gate but James grasped it before she could slip through.

"Please!" She whispered. "Please don't ask me again….please don't ask me to tell you."

"How do you know Sparrow is dead?" His dark eyes cut into her as she stared up at him.

"Just trust that I do, now please…." She turned to go through the gate but he grasped her arm and spun her to face him again.

"Not until you tell me Elizabeth is well!"

Without thinking Isabelle reached her free arm back and brought her hand across James Norrington's face in a tremendous slap; the sound echoing in the quiet Sunday afternoon like the crack of a whip. She slipped through the gate and slammed it behind her, the iron ringing against stone, and left James Norrington to stare as she ran up the garden path back towards the house.


	14. The Agony of Defeat

Isabelle had secluded herself in the library for most of the rest of that day. She had not ventured out to the gardens as she was wont to do, and she hadn't taken the noon time meal. Her stomach growled loudly at tea time, but she drank only tea. She avoided Cutler that evening as well. She did not want to talk to anyone.

Why had she slapped James Norrington?

James Norrington had unnerved her, that was undeniably true. He had brought up the subject of the heart and had tried to get her to divulge her deepest secret. Though he had kept the secret of her humble origin to himself (as far as she knew) she was not sure she could trust him with her darkest secret. It had taken her several days to come to this conclusion and now she stood at the window of the library and stared at the palm trees nodding in the light breeze with her hands clasped behind her back. She heard Cutler enter the house and turned slowly as he stomped into the library.

"There you are!" He said as he tossed his hat and cape down onto a table. A book skidded from the table top and bounced on the floor, several of the pages creasing beneath the heavy binding. Isabelle knelt and picked up the book and smoothed the pages flat before closing it. "I was hoping I'd see you."

"Of course my lord. What is it you require of me?" Cutler was anxious, or perhaps excited. She was not sure which.

"I need to leave for a time."

"Leave? Why?" Isabelle set the book atop the mantle as Cutler scurried about the room collecting documents and folios to place in a satchel.

"It is important. It concerns the heart." Isabelle shuddered at the mention of the foul thing. "I need to be sure it is protected, and there are already rumors that some know it is here."

"How would they?"

"Oh, some of the clerks heard Mr. Mercer and I talking about it at headquarters."

"You should not speak of such a thing when so many ears might hear!" Isabelle said as she followed him about the room.

"You think I don't know that?!" He snapped at her as he finally stopped and turned on her. "Of course I know. But I needed to conduct business and you would not permit it in the house, so Mr. Mercer and I were forced to speak of it only at headquarters. You see, I was thinking of you." He reached out to caress her cheek but she backed away from him. "You're such a scared little filly….someone will have to bend you to the bit and soon."

"When do we leave?" She asked trying to change the subject.

"'We'? _We _are not leaving anywhere. You are to stay here." When she didn't have a quick response for him he smiled indulgently. "I can't have you near it Isabelle. I can't risk your having another episode."

"I'm stronger now."

"I don't know that you are." He backed her slowly up until her shoulders were pinned against one of the many book shelves that lined the walls of the room. He looked down at her with his cold blue eyes and smiled. "How can I trust that you won't break down in the middle of negotiations for the protection of the heart? How do I know you won't use it to your own designs?" He leered at her.

"I have no designs on the---ah!" She winced as he grasped her arm and Mr. Mercer came in holding a chest. Cutler dragged her across the room until she stood before the chest. A thunderous boom rent the air and she tried to cover her ears. Her knees gave beneath her but Cutler held her up.

"You don't want to destroy it now? Cast it onto the fire and destroy the best weapon the East India Trading Company has against the miscreants, pirates and thieving merchants? You would see the business my father helped create come crashing down about your ears?" He leaned in until his mouth was close to her ear. "You would see that which brought you up from the gutter and set you so high bring you crashing down again? Would you like that Isabelle? To cast all of this aside and become the whore you were supposed to be?" She tried to wrench away from him but he held fast. "Would you?!?!?!" She tried to strike him, to break his hold on her arm, but she couldn't, he was stronger than she was. "Answer me!"

"No!"

"No you won't answer me? Or no you don't want to see it all destroyed?" Isabelle stared up into his cold eyes for but a moment and then looked to the hearth which was smoldering low, the golden glow the only thing lighting the room now that the sun had descended.

"Tell me!" He said shaking her violently. "For days you avoid me, you are hiding something! You are plotting!" he raged.

"No I'm not! Your father was a kind and decent man! He supported me! He loved me!" Isabelle reasoned frantically.

"What has that to do with anything?"

"I owe him too great a debt to bring his company crashing down. It would do you well to remember he loved you too and that he supported you as much as he supported me!" She was angry now. How dare he threaten her with trying to destroy the company!? It was he who would destroy it with his maniacal assertiveness, desire for control and his snobbery. From somewhere, deep within she drew on a secret strength, a strength that glowed like the tiniest pin prick of fire. It was a spark that needed to be nurtured.

Cutler glowered at her and hissed down at her "You stupid slut! You think you have the right to tell me I'm destroying the company? You're no better than a cinder maid! I should return you to your ranks post haste!" Cutler flung her towards the fire place and watched as she caught herself upon the mantle. She cried out and tried to push away from the marble, to escape, but he was upon her in a flash. "My father used you to great advantage but all you've given me is trouble. I meant what I said. You should be returned to your station but for the little use you have been to me. I need to know the plots that others have on me. You'll stay here. You'll stay here and contemplate how it is you are to be useful to me when I return. When I come back, you will be docile and subservient." He grasped her jaw in his firm grip and brought her eyes to meet his. She latched onto his strong wrist and tried to break away from him. "You will do as I say Isabelle and you'll not hide from me. You'll not play the arrogant little girl, and you will do as all others employed by the company must do….follow orders. Is that understood?"

She wanted to spit in his face, she wanted to strike at him as she had struck James Norrington the Sunday past. She wished she could run from him….

"Do you understand me?" Her eyes glared daggers at him and all that she had been thinking, the hate and the anger, was communicated in that one dark gaze. Her brown doe eyes reflected black in the fire light and Cutler, for one brief moment, was slightly afraid of her. She felt it; the fear, the concern that she might not bend to his will. The smoldering spark within her began to glow more brightly. _She could gain the upper hand! _So focused was she on the fantasy of gaining the upper hand that she didn't notice Cutler's mood instantly darken. The back of his hand met the side of her face and she crumpled to the hearth and dared not get up.

_He struck me?!_

"Mr. Mercer can not remain behind as I need his formidable skills to protect this, our most valued possession." Cutler continued as he gathered the last of the documents he required and stood beside his associate. "Should you have any problems at all, Mr. Norrington will be at your disposal. If he succeeds in that, then perhaps I shall award him that commission he has set his eyes upon." Isabelle's ears were ringing. She sat beside the fire place and rested her face against the cool marble. Her face was hot where Cutler had struck her and from embarrassment. "You will also be required to go down to the office at least thee times a week to deal with business. It shall be nothing more than putting your signature to minor documents and making sure everyone is hard at work as they should be. I know you are capable of this as you often did it for father." Cutler put his traveling cloak on and picked his hat up as he looked at her still cowering beside the fire place where he had struck her down. He approached and reached a hand out to her but she shifted away. "Dear me, I am sorry for that Isabelle, but you were being so difficult…" He watched, satisfied as she closed her eyes and shuddered as he brushed his fingers gently across her jaw. "I don't want to hurt you Isabelle, but you must be taught some how…." He straightened and went to the door, followed by a smirking Mr. Mercer. "Good evening Isabelle." The door clicked shut and then she heard the secondary _click_ of the key being turned in the lock.

_She was locked in!_

Isabelle let loose the first sob and tried to hold the others back. He had beaten her.

Literally and figuratively.

* * *

James Norrington arrived early at the estate of Lord Beckett. The man had sent a secretary to his lodging with a letter detailing what was required of him.

_Carry out my orders now and I shall see to it that you gain an admiralty._

An admiralty would almost get rid of the shame he had brought upon himself in giving up the rank of commodore.

_Almost._

He had led men to their deaths. Nothing could assuage that from his guilty conscience. And, thinking on it, he was sure that even the title of Admiral would not bring him back into Isabelle's good graces. He had been sorely sorry for the way he had treated her after church. And he was surprised when she had struck him. She had certainly regained her strength, that was something he was certain of. He smiled as he thought of the fire he had seen in her eyes when he had asked her of her dark past. He was sure there was more to this girl that he had originally been lead to believe. He just hoped she would forgive him and make his service to her simple. He knocked upon the large door and waited until it was opened.

"Mr. James Norrington." He said by way of introduction. "I was told report to the mistress of the house."

"I'll find her maid sir and have her fetched out. You may wait in the Lord's library…'tis that door just there." The man said pointing to a closed door on his right. James bowed as the man went to a hidden door in the paneling beneath the stairs and descended to the servants' quarters to fetch out Miss Beckett's maid. James tried the door indicated and found it to be locked. The small gold key turned easily and James slipped into the library. He looked around at all the books on the wall.

_Some of these were probably mine…_ he thought darkly. Many of the possessions of his home had been put up for auction after his disappearance. He recognized the binding on several of the works, whole shelves of them in fact. He snorted derisively. Even his lordship was a pirate of sorts; pilfering books that didn't belong to him. He probably hadn't even paid for them. Cutler Beckett had probably obtained them in the name of the East India Trading Company after labeling them 'stolen goods' of a man suspected in aiding a man convicted of piracy. He turned to take in the rest of the room and stared at the painting above the mantle. It was a large portrait depicting Lord Beckett the elder. He wore a long curled wig much like that of the governor. His hand rested upon a globe and behind him, upon a wing backed chair was draped a deep midnight blue flag emblazoned with the East India Trading Company's symbol. Beyond the lord, the landscape depicted a green and lush jungle and golden sunlight. The lord looked stern, but kind—the type of man that would take no nonsense, but that was loving and giving to those who did as they were bid. Unlike the current Lord Beckett who was as cold as an arctic ice flow and just about as unyielding.

"He was nothing like Cutler."

James turned to see Isabelle standing in the doorway. She ducked her head and entered the office, taking a seat behind the large ornate desk. "How can I help you this morning, Mr. Norrington?" She folded her hands in her lap and stared at him. Her dark eyes were shadowed but she seemed fully absorbed in the moment.

"It is not I that needs assistance, milady. I come to offer my services to you." He said with a bow. He kept his eyes on her face and was relieved when she looked away, focusing instead on a space on the desk between them. Something was not right.

"First things first Mr. Norrington. My brother is Lord Beckett. My father was Lord Beckett, but I am not titled and never shall be. You, of all people, would know why." Her eyes focused on his again. He had earlier thought that she looked tired, but now was certain of the fact. The girl looked as if she hadn't slept at all. She had dark circles beneath her eyes and—was that a bruise purpling her jaw? or perhaps just a play of light and shadow in the room?

She continued speaking, her words breaking into his thoughts. "Secondly, I thank you, sir, for your kind offer. But as of this time, I don't believe I need any assistance."

"Is all well with you?"

"Yes, as well as can be expected." She answered quickly.

* * *

She had sat upon the floor of the office for some time before a servant had come in to bank the fire. They had seen her sitting at the hearth staring ahead into the darkened room. She had quickly made a retreat to her own chamber, locking the door behind her. It was there that she got the first look at what it was Cutler had done to her. Never before had he struck her, and never before had he harmed her to the point where it would leave a mark. Any bruise, mark, or accident she had she had always been able to explain away. This would not be so easy. It had taken her most of the night to concoct a lie to cover the truth. It was weak and she knew it. Anyone with half a brain would know it was a lie, but it was the best she could come up with. She rehearsed it over and over, at first in her head, playing over parts of her scenario and then aloud, as if she were reciting the lie to an inquisitive person on the streets.

"Oh yes. I'm dreadfully clumsy. I was carrying an armful of flowers into the house talking to one of the gardeners. I wasn't paying any attention to where I was going and one of the house girls, she wasn't paying attention to what was going on outside. Well, as fate would have it, she opened the door right as I was coming inside and _smack_ right into the face. She was so mortified, but really, all I could do was laugh! Such a silly little accident!"

_A horrible lie_. She thought as she applied powder to the bruise in a vain effort to lighten it. Perhaps no one would notice.

* * *

"Miss Beckett, did someone strike you?" Isabelle brought her eyes quickly to meet James Norrington's. Damn him for noticing and damn him for bringing it up! He was a bigger busy body than half of the society women. Why was it he always brought up the topics she wanted to leave forgotten?

"Strike me? That's preposterous." Isabelle got up and went to retrieve a file from one of the tables around the room.

"You have a bruise, upon your face."

"It's nothing…one of the house maids and I had a collision out back." She answered distractedly. _How can I make him leave?_ "Damn that secretary!" Isabelle suddenly burst out. "He was supposed to take this to headquarters with him this morning! Mr. Norrington, would you mind taking this to the office? See that Mr. Hudson gets it." She handed him the file and then returned to her spot behind the desk and set to work with pen and ink. Mr. Norrington stared at the file in his hand and then looked to her. "Is there a problem?" She asked when he hadn't left immediatly.

"No, Miss Beckett. I'd best be on my way." He left the office slowly, with deliberate strides. As he turned to shut the door he saw her shoulders slump as she covered her face with her hand.

Something was amiss. He was sure of it.


	15. Something Earned

Isabelle made her three trips a week to headquarters and signed documents, files and pardons. Most days she was there merely to act as task master. But after a few days the secretaries and clerks of the company were working under their own drive to accomplish. Miss Beckett was a task master, but she didn't care how things got done, unlike his lordship that had a hand in everything. Miss Beckett only wanted to see that every task assigned was completed.

"You've a fine head for business, Miss Beckett." One of the clerks said as she signed off on more orders. "Everyone thinks you're doing a splendid job."

"Thank you Mr. Hudson." She smiled at him as he sanded her signature and left the room. Isabelle leaned back and looked out the window of the office. The sun was beginning to set and a slight breeze had picked up. It would rain before the next morning, she was sure of it.

It had been two weeks since Cutler's departure and the bruise on her face had disappeared. She had only called upon Mr. Norrington once in the time since his unexpected arrival at the house the day after Cutler left. She did not want him nosing about. He was an exceptionally inquisitive man, and he was intelligent; she did not need to answer his questions for him to guess at what transpired between her and Cutler. The part of her that enjoyed his company yearned to tell him about Cutler and about her curse. She wanted to tell someone all the sordid details of her darkest secret. Kapil had been her confidante in India.

_Kapil._

She had not thought of him in ages. Kiri would be a young woman by now, his eldest son would be married, as would several of his older girls. Kiri might even be contracted with some young village boy. Isabelle drummed her fingers absently against the arm of the chair as she thought back on the past decade. The more she thought about where she had been, where she had thought she would be, and where she was, the more depressed she got. She was turning these thoughts over and over in her mind when a commotion in the hall distracted her and pulled her from her reverie.

Glass shattered in the distance and she heard shouting downstairs. She imagined one of the apprentices had dropped a tray full of inkwells or perhaps a decanter of brandy. The brandy, though it would make less of a mess, would raise much more of a stir. She'd find out soon enough.

_Sooner than I thought…._

"Miss Beckett!" Isabelle turned slowly to the pale clerk who entered the room. "Come quickly." Isabelle frowned and followed the clerk down the massive staircase to the foyer where several clerks stood staring to where one of the panes of glass from the window beside the door had shattered.

"Have none of you ever seen a broken window? Get back to work!" Isabelle saw several of the men jump and move off whispering amongst themselves. The senior clerks, men who had worked for her father, stood about and stared at her. "Well, what is it? How did this happen?"

Mr. Jenkins, a man who should have retired ages ago, stepped forward with a rock and a piece of parchment in his hand.

"It would seem, that we are not the town favorites." He passed the rock and the parchment to her.

"_Death to the Company! Death to Tyranny! Free Trade or No Trade!"_

"So I see." Isabelle shrugged her shoulders and crumpled the note. "Well, the way the company has been running things of late it's no small wonder we have our enemies. Get this mess cleaned up. I want that pane replaced on the morrow. For now have it boarded up. Have a guards posted outside at all hours; day and night. We shall take this threat seriously for now and loosen security measures as time goes on." The men bowed as she moved quickly back up the stairs.

She went back to Cutler's office and sank into one of the large wingback chairs. Twilight had enveloped the room and it was bathed in shadow. Cutler was making enemies. It didn't take a reader to know that. She chewed absently on her thumbnail as the room was slowly bathed in the soft purple shadows of twilight. She stared at the cold hearth and wondered what she could do, or if there was anything that could be done to counteract the destruction that Cutler had wrought.

"Miss Beckett?" Isabelle turned slightly to see Mr. Jenkins standing in the doorway. "My goodness child, what are you doing sitting here in the darkness?"

"Thinking." Isabelle sighed heavily and gnawed on her thumb again. "The Company can do such good! I'd hate to think that people will only see its destructive properties."

"You shouldn't trouble yourself, miss. Such things are bound to happen. All major corporations face such detractors. It is the nature of the beast."

"It shouldn't be." She heard Mr. Jenkins laugh but paid him no mind.

"Miss Beckett, Mr. Norrington is awaiting you in the lobby. I called upon him to escort you home."

"What—ow!!" Isabelle had bit down on her thumb when Mr. Jenkins had mentioned Norrington. She stood quickly and turned on Mr. Jenkins. "You had no right to do that! I'm perfectly capable of going home without an escort! I've been doing so for weeks now…."

"Considering the threat we received this evening I didn't think it wise for the company's representative to be going about alone." Mr. Jenkins answered. "Mr. Norrington was hired on as an escort and protector of sorts. Let him do his job."

"You take too many liberties old man." Mr. Jenkins swallowed hard. Isabelle had a sweet disposition, but in the shadowed office she looked like a corpse, her eyes dark and sunken, her skin white against the dark shadows of the room and her voice—it was as cold as the grave. He laughed in spite of himself.

"I should have retired long ago miss, before even your father died, God rest his soul. Because I have not, I entitle myself to liberties that others wouldn't dream of." Isabelle shook her head. She hadn't meant to snarl at Jenkins so, she knew he was thinking of her safety, but the audacity of calling James Norrington to the task was galling. More appalling, she knew that Mr. Jenkins was right. It was no longer safe for her to be on her own.

She swept past Mr. Jenkins and moved down the hall to the great staircase. James Norrington stood in the middle of the foyer upon the inlaid compass rose on the marble floor. He watched as two cooper's boys tacked a board over the shattered window. The noise echoed in the vaulted room and sounded like thunder. Isabelle had to shout to get Mr. Norrington's attention.

"Mr. Jenkins said you needed an escort home." James said as she approached. The boys seemed to be done with the board at the moment.

"Yes, we've had some PROBLEMS." The boys began to nail the board secure again half way through her sentence.

"WHAT?" James yelled back. Isabelle shook her head and held a hand to her ear. She nodded her head towards the back of the headquarters building and lead James into an empty cloak room.

"Well, that's better, now I can hear myself think!" Isabelle sighed. The sound of the hammering was dulled only slightly, but at least she didn't have to shout to be heard.

"What's going on?" James asked her.

"We were threatened today." Isabelle explained as she swung her shawl over her shoulders and tied the tasseled ends off at the small of her back. Her arms and shoulders were now covered, but she wouldn't have to worry about the filmy material slipping from her shoulders or dragging in the muck when she lost one of the ends from her hands. It also left her hands free to grasp her skirts in case she had to make a dash. _But from what or who would she be fleeing?_ She suddenly realized that James was still staring at her waiting for more information. "The Company is not well liked. It's understandable considering the taxes levied on merchants coming here. The Company taxes the goods brought off the ships here, the merchants have to raise prices to make it worth their while and the people suffer for it because their wages are not raised to meet the costs. In fact, the lower classes suffer more so that the rich are able to enjoy their lives, no matter the cost to others."

"I'm surprised you'd care for the lower classes so."

"Are you? You of all people shouldn't be surprised." Isabelle leveled her dark eyes on James and was shocked to see him staring back at her.

"Just because you came from humble beginnings, doesn't mean that you would remember them. Some people that rise from the low places of the world do their damnedest to leave their brethren behind."

"I'm not one of them." Isabelle shot back. She felt cornered in the tight space of the cloak room. It was time to leave. "I don't care what others may or may not do; I don't choose to forget my origins. It makes me grateful for everything I've received in my life. You may choose to throw your old life away; I choose to keep it close to my heart." She tried to storm past him, angry as she was but he caught her arm. She stopped and stared at him.

"I never said I made good decisions, Miss Beckett. But I never wanted to throw my life away in whole. I watched as piece by piece it was taken from me. I didn't know how to make a life with what I had left." He slowly looked away from her and let go of her arm. "I admire you though…being able to hold onto where you came from and still live happily amongst the elite."

Isabelle barked a short laugh and rolled her eyes as she made her way to the back door. "You are a fool if you think I live my life happily." James followed behind her and she smiled when she realized he had to trot to catch up to her long fast strides. When he drew even he slowed down and matched her strides.

"You are unhappy?"

"I didn't say that!" She snapped. She took a turn and walked up the street. She felt the eyes of many people on her. None of them were an eminent threat.

"You said I was a fool if I thought you lived a happy life….but you're happy?"

"I only meant….it's just…." Isabelle set her jaw and shook her head. "Money doesn't bring happiness Mr. Norrington; that is all."

"You are angry with me." Isabelle looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "For what I don't know…"

"I am not angry at you." Isabelle said with a defeated sigh. "I am frustrated. This whole thing is a great inconvenience."

"I'm glad to hear you aren't angry with me." James said with a grin. Isabelle felt his relief wash over her. It started as a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach that spread throughout her body. She relaxed slightly and slowed her stride. "And I'm sorry for your inconvenience."

"It's no matter." She said with a wave of her hand. "Freedom is a luxury I'm not to be given it would seem." The words had come unbidden, but after her contemplation in the office, she knew it was true. Cutler confining her the evening of his departure, the way he lorded his possession of the heart over her as well as insisting on her calling him by his title, and now she was forced to rely on another to escort her home. The cinder maid Cutler had compared her to would have more freedom than she did.

"Miss Beckett?" Isabelle turned to James who was looking at her oddly.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Nothing of import. A crown for your thoughts?" He had clasped his hands behind him as he strolled beside her. She stared at him as he smiled.

"My thoughts wouldn't be worth a crown. Why would you pay to hear the thoughts of a silly girl?"

"Well, first things first, I'd pay to hear them because they're obviously important. Second, they can't be too silly for all the weight they would seem to bear upon you, and lastly, you can't possibly be too silly a girl as you are currently in charge of one of the largest trade organizations in the world." He continued to stare at her as the first stars finally began to prick at the deep purple of the night sky. He dug in his pocket and held up the coin. "Well?"

Isabelle smiled in spite of herself and shook her head. "I was merely thinking about how miserable things have ended up….and how trapped I am."

"Trapped?"

"Like a bird in a gilded cage." Isabelle answered with a sigh. "I have no where to go, and even if I did, Cutler would not permit me to leave. I'm too valuable to him."

"You've no beau or family friend in India or England you could go to?" Norrington asked.

"Ha! Heavens no! A beau? I'm a spinster Mr. Norrington, or haven't you heard?" Isabelle said. Tears threatened and she had to clear her throat to prevent her voice from shaking. It was one thing to contemplate the thought, but quite another to voice it aloud to another. "Friends are a hard commodity and hardly trafficked by the company. Most people only use me as a means to get to my brother and then I'm once again forgotten and relegated to the parlor or garden." The ice in her voice caught James off guard and he took a moment to look again at the young woman with whom he walked. She was incredibly smart, and strong and yet held such a dark outlook on life and the world at large; her defeatist attitude shocked him. She was like a coin that flipped from one side to the other. "I hate what has been done to the Company. Lord Beckett, Cutler's father, was a hard businessman who wanted to make the largest profit for the company possible, but never at the expense of the merchants or traders. Certainly never at the expense of the people. Cutler cares only to fill his own coffers and to hell with those he treads upon." Isabelle turned her eyes to James and smiled. "You're shocked that I'd use such strong language."

"Certainly nothing that would be uttered in a parlor."

"Forgive me, but I was not born to a parlor. Occasionally my lesser nature reveals itself." She'd flipped again. One moment speaking of something which deeply troubled her and the next moment making a joke at her own expense.

They had arrived at the back garden gate and James opened it and allowed her to enter. He thought about leaving her to make her way to the house on her own, but thought better of it. If someone were to ambush her, it may very well be from the protection of the dense growth of her own garden.

"Is there nothing you can do to change it?" He asked.

"Change what?" She asked as she turned around a tall hedge and moved onto the gravel paths of the formal gardens.

"The view people have of the company."

"I don't know. It would be quite the undertaking. What good would it do? When Cutler returned he would destroy everything I had done and bring it right back to this."

"Have you spoken to no one else about this?"

"Who? Cutler's business partners? His clerks and accountants? Who am I supposed to turn to Mr. Norrington? As I told you before, I have no friends. Those that sought my friendship, few though they were, have abandoned me. They got what they wanted when they gained or lost favor with my dear brother."

"I believe you overlook one person, though I wouldn't want to presume anything." Mr. Norrington said. He stopped in the pool of light that spilled from one of the big windows of the house. Isabelle turned to face him, an odd look creasing her features. "Me? I'd like to think that we could be friends if I haven't offended you too greatly."

Isabelle stared into his eyes. He was honest, and sincere in his gesture of friendship. He honestly wanted to befriend her. They had shared much; heartache, hardships, a change in standing and above all, loss. She knew a few of the shadows that chased him, far more than he would ever know about her and hers. They'd also spent three days together in the middle of the sea. They'd shared a near death experience.

"What do you seek to gain?" She asked, suspicious of his motives. She instantly regretted her words.

"You truly are the daughter of a Company merchant. Must everything come with a bartered price on it?" Norrington turned and moved into the shadows.

"No, I didn't mean that!" Isabelle moved from the door and chased after him. She grasped his sleeve and forced him to stop. "Please! I didn't mean that…"

"What did you mean?"

"I don't know. Attribute it to the silly ramblings of a foolish woman." She shook her head and stared at the ground. "Please Mr. Norrington…let me make this up to you?"

It was his turn to look at her with a questioning gaze. "Please join me for dinner? I have dined quite alone these past two weeks, I would enjoy the company."

"I think I'd like that, as long as it wouldn't be an imposition upon your household."

"Not at all…please, won't you come in?" She smiled up at him expectantly but felt something tug at her heart. He wanted to say yes, but something was keeping him from saying it. "Why won't you join me?" His eyes shot to hers briefly and then he looked away.

"I'm not high board material. I wouldn't want you to be embarrassed. I'll bid you good evening, Miss BEckett." He bowed and turned to leave.

"You are a vexing brute!" Isabelle had to restrain herself from stamping her foot. "Do not think it high board Mr. Norrington, and remember from whence I come. If it pleases you, think on this meal as payment for your good work in escorting me home tonight. Or, better yet, think of it as a company dinner between employees. I'd say it's a dinner between friends, but I suppose our mutual mistrust of others is going to take some time to get over, so we wont' call it that." James was silent for a moment before he bowed again. He had wanted to laugh for she was quite amusing when she was angry. She was like another woman he had known.

"Lead the way, Miss Beckett." Isabelle smiled and went back to the side door and escorted Mr. Norrington in to dinner.

Their meal was rich and they spent time talking of their past lives, dancing around the most painful parts and doing their best to keep the conversation light. Isabelle laughed as she hadn't done in months. But as all good things, their meal had to come to an end and James Norrington finally rose from the table to leave.

"Miss Beckett, I thank you for a wonderful dinner." He said bowing. Isabelle rose as well and followed him out into the foyer. He turned and smiled. "Are we resolved now to be friends?"

"I think so." Isabelle smiled up at him and nodded. "Will you go out the front door, or would you prefer to go out the side? Which is quicker for your return journey?"

"The side door would be just fine. If I might escape through your garden…"

"Escape!? Have I held you captive then this evening?" It was Norrington's turn to laugh.

"Nay, lady, merely captivated me." Isabelle smiled in spit of herself. He was a shameless flatterer. They walked to the side door and he stood upon the stair as she stood in the doorway. "What time shall I call upon you in the morning to escort you to the office?"

"I won't be going to the office tomorrow, but call early the day after and we shall go down together." She smiled softly as he gallantly took her hand up and kissed the back of it. She stiffened slightly and was embarrassed when she realized he had sensed it. But there was something else. As he released her hand, he passed a crown from his fingers to hers.

"I should think this an investment well made." Isabelle opened her mouth to make a response but could find no words to shout at his back as he retreated into the darkness of the gardens, a smile upon his face and a whistle upon his lips.

"Arrogant man!" She hissed into the darkness. But she was not angry. How could she be when she had gained a friend?

That evening, Isabelle went to sleep with a smile upon her lips and the crown beneath her pillow.


	16. May Day

For the next two weeks, James Norrington and Isabelle were in almost constant company. He escorted her to and from the offices and found excuses to haunt the halls of headquarters and carry messages back and forth. One day he brought a message from the offices to find her sitting in the library with a troubled look about her face. She was staring out into the startlingly clear blue skies of the Caribbean afternoon and chewing on the pad of her thumb; something, he had noticed, she only did when she was deeply troubled.

"Miss Beckett?"

"Mr. Norrington!" Isabelle rose from her spot behind the desk and shook her head. "I didn't hear you come in. What brings you here today?"

"I have a message from Mr. Jenkins for you." He said placing the file on the desk. "What's troubling you?"

"Nothing." Isabelle said quickly as she snatched up the file to read over the message that was no doubt a simple document requiring her signature.

"Miss Beckett. For two weeks now, we have been conversing and spending time with one another. We established that we are friends and colleagues. It didn't take me long to discover what that look means." Isabelle glanced up at him.

"What look?" His eyes locked on hers, daring her to come up with an excuse. It was hopeless and she knew it. She sighed and then sat down again, tossing the missive down before her. "It's the taxes levied on the trade goods, Mr. Norrington! People are fighting for their very survival and yet there's nothing to be done!"

"What brought this about?" Mr. Norrington watched as she arose again and went to stand on the balcony. The wind caught up her honey colored hair and twisted it about. He stood beside her and watched as she corralled her thoughts and began to speak.

"Yesterday I was in the market." She said softly. "I overheard a woman bartering for flour—flour!—of all things. She could not afford it! It is not even a severe import, being grown and ground as it is upon another island, but it is so taxed that the milliner in the market must raise his prices. I heard her pleading with him…it is her daughter's tenth birthday and she wished to bake a sweet cake for her." Isabelle looked troubled at the thought and James expressed as much to her. "Should I not care then? It is my business that is going to destroy the hopes and dreams of this poor girl…and her mother."

"You can't lower the taxes. You've said as much yourself." James said. "What can you do? Gift them the flour?"

"You know as much as I that the people of Port Royal are too proud for that. They'll accept no outright charity from Company coffers." She grasped the marble railing and sighed.

"You're thinking about something." James turned his back to the railing and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared peevishly at her. She was tapping one well manicured nail against the stone beneath her hands and her eyes were squinted against the bright blue of the sky and water as her mind continued to brew. Finally, he could stand the silence between them no longer and felt compelled to break it. "What is it?"

"What if I were to throw a party…for all the children?" She said with out turning to face him.

"What do you mean?"

"Is May day not soon approaching?"

"It is four days hence."

"Perhaps we shall have a May day feast. And a party for the children with sweet cakes and the like. Perhaps even gift them with small trinkets…flour and sugar for the older ones." Isabelle looked up at Mr. Norrington from the corner of her eye. He was good at guarding what he was thinking; it was one reason she enjoyed his company.

"I think that sounds quite plausible." He finally said. "There hasn't been a celebration here in a long time."

"Will you help me?" Isabelle reached out and grasped James' sleeve. "I don't think they'd accept it knowing it's all done by me….would you be my voice to them? They know you…"

"They might not accept it from me….I made many an enemy when I sailed from this port after Jack Sparrow." Isabelle's dark eyes sought his, pleading without having to say a word. "But I shall do my best to see your Maying a festive one. Father Murdoch will certainly help us."

"Oh, thank you!" Isabelle's eyes were alight suddenly and she went back into the library to make a list of all that would need to be done.

* * *

She sent a message to the offices outlining what she was doing and also made overtures to the other members of the elite in the area. Many of them were quick to help and offered up their kitchens to the making of the feast. The event was held in the yard between the church and the vicarage with the blessings of Father Murdoch. Large tables were laid out and everyone in the village was invited. The elite of the city released their servants and their families early to set up the tables and bring the food. There were sweet cakes of every shape and flavor and a large island boar had been killed and roasted for the occasion. There was a May pole and the teens of the village climbed to a high bluff to watch the sun rise and to greet the spring sun as it climbed from the sea on the far side of the island. Isabelle helped set out the food and smiled as James led the first of the villagers into the vicarage yard. 

"A Happy May morning to you!" She called as the children trotted forward to look at the food with large hungry eyes.

"A Happy May morning to you as well, Mistress Beckett." The older of the girls curtsied and nudged her brother that he might turn and bow to one of their betters. The little boy just stared at Isabelle with his thumb in his mouth. "Bow, or Mama will skin you alive!" The girl hissed. He bowed from the waist, but kept his eyes locked on Isabelle. He was terrified of her. Isabelle knelt before him and smiled.

"How old are you?"

"He's four ma'am." The girl answered. "Hardly talks at all with his thumb in his mouth all the time."

"Well, a four year old gentleman is just who I need to sit at the head of one of my tables. Would that be you?" The little boy took his thumb out of his mouth and then looked up at his sister before nodding and whispering an answer. "Good! Follow me!" Isabelle took his little hand in hers and led him to the head of one of the tables and lifted him into the chair. His sister sat to one side and curtsied again as Isabelle went off to greet more of her guests.

Many of the villagers came to participate in the festivities, but many of the parents suspected that the East India Trading Company was behind much of it. Father Murdoch had pledged his name to the cause at Mr. Norrington's request, knowing full well that if either Isabelle or James fronted it, it would fail on the doorsteps of the townspeople.

After a breakfast of sweet cakes, the older children danced around the maypole, winding lengths of different colored silks about the pole and singing and dancing songs that the elder villagers taught them; songs from the old country and the old world. Isabelle was helping to bring up platters of boars meat when James took one of the trays from her and set it upon the table.

"Miss Beckett, I request a dance from you."

"Oh, Mr. Norrington, I couldn't…"

"You can and you will because it is my May Day wish." James said grasping her hands and dragging her towards the open space where a country reel was being completed.

"Miss Beckett! Miss Beckett!" A young girl with blonde curls dancing from beneath her mob cap came running up with a wreath of flowers. "Ye cannot dance without a wreath miss!"

"Well, I won't take yours, Miss Anne. You see, I won't be dancing."

"This isn't mine. Sarah Cheavers made it for you." Isabelle looked across the green to where an auburn haired teen stood with a wreath of blue flowers in her loose hair. She stood beside one of the coopers' lads swaying to the music as the reel was completed. "She'd be awful sore if you didn't accept it Miss Beckett. She saved the pink ones for you since it matched your dress and ribbons."

"It would seem you have no choice in the matter, Miss Beckett." James Norrington whispered, a smile playing about his mouth. Isabelle shot him an angry look and then knelt down and let the little blonde girl place the wreath upon her head. Her long hair had been plaited around the side of her head and curved across her neck and over her left shoulder. Now with the bright pink flowers adorning her hair she looked like a May Queen.

"Very well, if you all insist." She said, still squinting up at James. "A shall dance, but only this once!" James led Isabelle out into the open space where the dances were held and smiled at her as they moved through the set to the tune of the violin and flute. She was passed from hand to hand and danced amongst the commoners and colonial elite. When the music ended Isabelle made her excuses to leave and finished setting up for the lunch with a broad grin upon her face.

* * *

Isabelle was just putting a slice of boars' meat on one of the plates before young John King, the four year old from earlier in the day, when she heard a bell begin to ring. She looked up at the church bell and shielded her eyes, but it was not coming from the big bell in the church. She went back to serving the children when she heard the bell again. James watched as the smile faded from her eyes and she seemed to grow nervous. She moved away from the tables and moved into the graveyard behind the church. He followed at a discreet distance. 

"Miss Beckett?" Though they were indeed friends he had never been able to use her given name. She had never given him permission to use her Christian name, and so he continued to refer to her as someone of higher station and not a friend. Her arms were crossed over her stomach and she stared out into the harbor below. "What's the matter?"

"Lord Beckett has returned." Isabelle whispered.

"What? How do you know?" James peered down into the blue bowl of the Port Royal harbor and could make out little. He certainly didn't see the company flag ship that he knew Lord Beckett had sailed on.

_Because I can hear him in my head, feel him in my heart…_But Isabelle couldn't tell James Norrington that. He would think she was insane. He looked at her and saw that her eyes were focused on the horizon. He too began to scan the line where sea met sky and sure enough, in the distance, a ship could be seen bobbing against the waves, its white sails unfurled and full of the prevailing wind.

"Have you ever just known something, Mr. Norrington?" She did not take her eyes from the distant ship.

"I have had that feeling before, yes." He answered quietly.

"Well, I know that Lord Beckett is on that ship."

"Does that matter?" Isabelle finally looked at him.

"Yes. To me it does. He will not be happy with this." She waved her hand back towards the front of the church where the sound of laughter could be heard coming from the revelers.

"So what if he isn't happy?" James said quickly. "You've made far more people very happy with the events thus far. We mustn't his homecoming ruin your day. Perhaps the wind will shift and he'll be held to sea. A storm could blow in. You could be wrong and he _isn't _aboard that ship. You never know! But you shouldn't let that ruin these festivities." Isabelle nodded. She was worried what Cutler would think of her using Company funds to provide a good time to the townspeople. She knew he would not approve. It had happened in India during a wedding for one of the clerks. Cutler had been furious that Isabelle had appropriated Company funds to help pay for the church so the young couple could be wed. She had also organized the villagers so that there might be a grand and festive party for the couple afterwards. Though the only real cost to the company had been the fee to pay the priest at the church, Cutler had been furious that such joy had been brought to the people he wanted to keep in fear. He had believed she was undermining his authority.

"You're right. I can't let him ruin the day for them…" Isabelle turned and quickly went back to the May Day festivities.

* * *

The day was drawing to a close and the children were sent along with sacks of flour and bits of sugar to take home with them. Though it wasn't a lot to Isabelle, she knew it would mean the world to their parents. John and Betty King, the two children who were first to arrive were the last to leave. John King pulled away from his sister's grasp and ran back to Isabelle. He wrapped his arms about her skirts and looked up at her with his large blue eyes. 

"Thank You Miss Beckett!" He said looking up at her. "My belly ain't never been so full." He ran off again and took hold of his sister's hand and left the church yard. Isabelle felt torn again. She was glad that the boy was so happy, his little heart was overflowing with joy and she could feel it. But it was not enough to counter her own feeling of sadness at hearing the news that he'd not been eating well. She knew that the little half pound bag of flour she'd sent home with his sister would be hardly enough for two loaves of bread. She sighed heavily and went to retrieve her shawl from inside the church. Father Murdoch met her on the stairs.

"You have done good work this day, Miss Beckett. Have you ever thought of joining the church?"

"No Father. My place is not with the church." She said with a small smile. All the Saints and their mothers would roll about in their graves and tombs and send thunder bolts upon him if she were to take up holy orders at his urging. "I thank you though, for helping us with this event." The priest nodded and made the sign of the cross above her head and watched as she turned to leave. Mr. Norrington had called up the carriage to bring her home.

"That ship we saw earlier has entered port." He said as he handed her up into the coach. The sun was sinking into the water and had turned the sky from the brightest blue to a flaming orange. "It looked to be flying company colors, though that isn't unusual in Port Royal any more."

"No, not unusual at all. Thank you Mr. Norrington, this day was more of a success than I could have dreamed." He shut the door and she leaned against the edge of the door to look down at him. He placed his hand gently over hers and smiled up at her.

"It was all because of you. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for." She nodded but he could see worry, or perhaps fear in her eyes. "If you need anything at all, please, call upon me."

"I will thank you Mr. Norrington." The driver pulled away and James was forced to step away. "Thank you!" She called to him again before she began to corral her thoughts to deal with Cutler's arrival.

* * *

A/N: I know this might seem a little slow going for now, but I have to build a bridge between DMC and AWE. I really hope people are enjoying this story. I love reviews so don't be shy! 


	17. Warning

Cutler had indeed been upon the ship that had entered the harbor. As he rode in the carriage up the dirt road, he noted the atmosphere of the city. He heard laughter coming from the open windows of houses and saw tables in the church yard and wondered as to the occasion behind them. His coach trundled farther up the road and pulled into the drive of his estate.

"_Home Sweet Home."_ He thought as he went up the stairs and entered the foyer.

"Lord Beckett! You're home!" The majordomo came forward and took his cape, cane and hat from his Lordship and bowed low. "Are you hungry, My Lord? I shall have cook set up dinner for you."

"Yes, that would be splendid. Tell me, where is my sister?"

"Lord Beckett!" Isabelle swept down the stairs with a smile upon her face. She was wary of him. But she knew what he wanted to see. _When I come back, you will be docile and subservient._ He stared at her as she dipped a curtsey and looked at him "I hope your trip went well."

"Yes, the heart is secure, for now. Other problems arose, but will be dealt with in time."

"Anything I might help with?"

"Perhaps, but it is not to be dealt with now. Come, I shall have no talk of business just yet. Join me for dinner."

Cutler's distaste for anything business related lasted only until his meal was finished and then he desired to know the entire goings on of Port Royal. Isabelle filled him in on everything she knew.

"I saw tables outside the church. Was there a wedding?"

"No…it is May Day. There was a celebration."

"A celebration? How quaint. What part did you have in it?"

"I donated the time of cook and some of the others. All the families did."

"And the Company?" Isabelle could feel his ire building and was cautious with her answer.

"Father Murdoch asked for some donations of flour and the like, I thought it wise for the Company to make a small donation to such an endeavor." Cutler stood from his spot at the head of the table and came to stand behind Isabelle's chair.

"How much?"

"No more than one barrel of flower and two cones of sugar." Isabelle answered. Cutler's hand came down heavily upon her shoulder. "We divided the flour and sugar and sent it home with the children, for their families."

"Your hand is all over this Isabelle. Why on earth would the company donate such things?"

"Well, My Lord, in case you hadn't noticed, the Company is not looked on with much favor in this town." Isabelle hissed as he dug his fingers into her shoulder and grasped her chin with his other hand forcing her to look into his cold eyes. "The people didn't know it was really a donation from the Company…they believe Father Murdoch bought it with alms."

"Really, you think the good Father has the sort of funds to distribute such things to the entire community?"

"Well, some of the society families may have donated…."

"But they didn't!" Cutler fumed.

"No, but I did! It came from my allowance." Isabelle answered desperately. It would take everything she had to pay for the flour and sugar she had appropriated for the donations to the children. Cutler stepped back from her, his eyes still cold, but beginning to warm at the prospect of Isabelle's being penniless and wholly dependent on him. She could feel it in her very core.

"Quite the little charity dealer. I'll expect to see the bill of sale and your coin upon my desk on the morrow." Cutler hissed at her. He left the dining room and slammed the door to the library where he remained for the rest of the evening.

Lord Beckett spent his days in the company offices, cut off from the town and orchestrating the lives of the people in the streets below. In the market place, Isabelle heard the rumblings of new taxes and higher prices on basic trade goods. She wasn't sure if this was sanctioned by the English trade board or if it was Cutler's misguided attempt at punishing the people for Isabelle's May Day celebration. She would not question him though for fear the tax hikes were brought on by her charity to the town. If it was, he might raise prices even more.

Weeks passed by and Isabelle felt the angry stares drill through her in the market place. It was almost to the point she no longer wanted to leave the estate. She saw James Norrington from afar, or after church, but he was no longer required to be a protector or messenger at headquarters and could no longer find a good excuse to call on Isabelle. She had not had a moment to call on him to tell him about Cutler making her pay for the gifts at May Day. She wasn't even sure she wanted to for fear that he might try to cover the costs himself. She had sold a gold broach, a gift from Cutler's father in order to help cover the costs sustained by purchasing the barrel of flour.

Soon she started to second guess James Norrington's friendship and she grew sullen and spent her days in the garden. Perhaps he had been using her friendship as a way to get closer to Cutler, as a means to ensure his position within the company. Maybe he thought that she had some sway with her brother and she would put in a good word for him. James had done a remarkably good job of hiding many of his thoughts and feelings. She had realized that the British Navy had instilled a stone veneer in him and that emotion was something he had difficulty showing. He masked it. Perhaps her sense of his sincerity was part of that façade. Regardless, whatever his intentions may have been, it had worked in his favor. When she had reported to Cutler the evening of his return she had informed him of how well James had comported himself to his duties and that he certainly deserved a reward for his service. But she had heard nothing further on the subject.

She was sitting beneath an arbor in the garden sewing one afternoon when she heard a rustling in the dense foliage farther down the path. The air was calm and the sound seemed out of place in the silent afternoon garden. She stood, setting her needlework aside when she heard the rustling again.

"Is someone there?" Isabelle stood and went cautiously towards the noise. "Hello?"

But she could neither see nor sense anyone in the garden. She went all the way down the path to the garden gate but still did not see anyone. A cool breeze began to blow and she pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders. A storm was brewing, of that she was certain, but of what sort, she was unsure.

The rain came late that evening just as the evening meal was being served and the sky remained dark and unseasonably cool for the next few days. It made the roads slick and several carriages remained stuck in the mire that the streets remained.

One afternoon Isabelle was helping to light the lamps of the house. She entered the library and heard Cutler sigh as the room was bathed in the golden light cast from the hurricane lamps.

"Lord Beckett…is something troubling you?"

"You have to ask?" He asked glaring up at her. She smiled indulgently at him.

"Perhaps I should have said "What is troubling you?", but I didn't want to intrude."

"I'm in the middle of finalizing an important business deal and of course, I'm missing several of the key files." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I shall just have to go back to headquarters to retrieve them, though honestly I don't want to go out in this drab weather again."

"Why don't you allow me to go?" She asked as she lit the last of the lamps. "I could use the walk and you've been working yourself too hard of late."

"What?" He looked up at her through his fingers. "You would do that for me?"

"Of course, Lord Beckett. You are my brother after all." He sighed as she came to stand before his desk. "Which files Cutler, and where are they? I can be back in twenty minutes if I leave soon. And by the time I get back, Cook will have supper ready."

"It would be nice to relax for a bit…" Isabelle knew Cutler was tired; he had not even reacted to her use of his first name. "Very well…they are in my office, on my desk I think. They'll be in a green portfolio."

"I shall leave immediately." She left the room and put her coat on in the foyer. "Anne, tell Mr. Hawkins that Lord Beckett is not to be disturbed until the evening meal is ready. If I'm not back by the time it is to be served, serve Lord Beckett and I shall take my meal later. His Lordship is very tired and needs some much needed rest."

"Yes Miss Beckett." The house girl curtseyed and shut the door behind Isabelle as she trudged town the walkway towards town.

Isabelle thought back to her first time in Port Royal. Then, all the houses had been full and though the town had been fearful of the heightened military presence, it had at least been alive. Now, many of the houses were dilapidated and empty. Shutters banged in the breeze that kicked up off the harbor. People had left Port Royal to make their way on other islands, the shipping industry having been altered in this previously flourishing port. Isabelle blocked the sad thoughts and anger from her mind and trudged into the empty company office. She heard a shutter bang loudly where it had obviously not been secured. She made her way up the stairs and went into Cutler's office. The shutter banged again and the wind howled through the building. Isabelle shivered as she heard it whistle across the chimney tops. The shutter banged once again and then grew silent. She hoped that it had either re-latched itself or a passer by had secured it growing as annoyed as she had with its constant banging. There were several portfolios scattered across the office. Some were on Mr. Mercer's desk, others were on the tables about the room. She filtered through the ones on Cutler's desk and then moved about the room trying to find the green folio. Finally she went to Mercer's desk and there, buried beneath several other files and documents, she saw the fabled green one.

"Ah ha! There you are…." Isabelle leaned across the desk and carefully began to extract the heavy portfolio. But something pricked at her consciousness before she could finish. The feeling made her breath catch in her throat and she paused. Someone was in the building with her. Not only were they in the building, but they were close to the office where she now stood. So intent had she been on ignoring the plight of the people of Port Royal, she had ignored the feeling of anxiety that permeated the air. _Why was the air ripe with anxiety _and_ anger?_ The other person was now standing in the doorway. She was unprotected, standing with her back to the door. _What shall I do?_ Isabelle leaned far over the desk and slid the drawer open quietly. Thankfully Mr. Mercer had a place for everything, including the dirk shaped letter opener. She grasped the cold metal handle and drew herself up again. She tried to glance over her shoulder to see the newcomer, but the room was dark with shadows. She held the blade in her right hand and tried to slip the needed portfolio from stack, but she could barely concentrate. Her hands shook and she couldn't concentrate on the task. She was trying to keep tabs on what was going on around her, while trying to act oblivious. _What was she to do?_

The newcomer moved out of the shadows and pounced on her. Isabelle raised her arm high to strike at her attacker with the blade, but her wrist was caught in one strong hand. She dropped the portfolio and pushed against her assailant even as they covered her mouth and pinned her to the desk. She tried to kick to scream, anything to get up or away. The grasp on her wrist tightened and she heard someone trying to shush her, but she would not be so easily silenced. She tried to breath but couldn't; she tried to scream, but couldn't do that either.

"Shhhshhh! Miss Beckett….Isabelle! Open your eyes and look at me!" Isabelle did as she was told and looked up into the eyes of James Norrington. She stopped struggling and released the blade she'd been holding. It clattered dully against the desk. "Do you promise to be very quiet?" She nodded quickly. It was becoming hard to breath, she'd do just about anything to get him off of her. Only then did he remove his hand from her mouth. She gasped in the stillness of the office and it seemed loud to them both. He stood back and helped her stand up.

"What are you…" He moved forward and covered her mouth again, holding a finger to his own lips.

"Whisper….there are others downstairs…." Isabelle strained her ears and could hear the sound of someone moving downstairs, then she heard glass break and a shout was raised. Quickly remembering the whole reason for being in this place, she quickly grabbed the portfolio she'd been sent to retrieve.

"What's going on?" Isabelle hissed at him. He grasped her hand and dragged her towards the door. "Who's downstairs and why on earth did you attack me?"

"I don't know what's going on, but I overheard some men at the lodging house discussing a raid this evening." Isabelle watched as Norrington craned his head around the door jamb to look out into the corridor. "I was going to go inform the constable when I saw you come in here." There was a loud crash and Isabelle heard a great cheer as more people rushed into the Company Headquarters. She came to stand beside James and looked towards the head of the stair case and saw a strange orange glow diffuse the gloom of the darkened building.

"What shall we do?" Isabelle knew their way out was limited and soon the angry mob would come upstairs.

"Follow me." James practically dragged her from Cutler's office and down the hall into a small back corner room. Just as they had entered the room they had heard people come up the main staircase. James quietly closed the door, and then began to pull a desk to block it off. Isabelle pushed with all her might and together they maneuvered the desk into position.

"Wonderful, now we're trapped in here!" Isabelle hissed as she looked around. She was sure she could smell smoke and wondered if she was to be burned alive, condemned to the fires like the witch many people would think she was if only they knew everything about her.

"No, we'll go out the window, here." James threw up the large window and leaned out to assess their escape. "The drain pipe here should be able to support us." Isabelle snatched up a satchel that happened to be lying upon one of the smaller clerk's desks and slung the bag over her shoulder as she slipped the portfolio into it. _Why even bother, the whole building was going to be consigned to a fire?_ She joined James at the window and looked at the slender length of pipe that ran from the slate roof down to a half filled rain barrel.

"You have got to be joking."

"No, I'll swing you to the pipe and then all you have to do is climb down…."

"What!?" Isabelle stood back from the sash and shook her head. "I'll not be swung about like a sack of grain!"

"It's the only way! Can't you smell the smoke!?! They're firing the building!" James said. Isabelle could now see the haze beginning to fill the room as smoke drifted under the door frame. She heard shouts and heard people entering the other offices farther up the hall. "Come on now!"

"No! You first!" Isabelle said as James grasped her hand. He stared down at her and scowled. "I can reach the pipe, but I'd prefer to have someone below in case I lose my grip on it." James looked ready to argue with her but she was insistent and on leaning out of the window, proved she could reach the pipe on her own. "Please! Go!"

James slung his leg out the window and reached for the pipe and slid easily down it using skills he hadn't used since he had been a young midshipman. He reached the bottom safely and then called up to Isabelle. She was no longer in the window though. She had made a dash to one of the accountant's desks and opened the collections drawer. She looked puzzled at the empty drawers and cubbies that should have been at least mostly filled with coin.

"This one's locked!" She heard someone on the other side try to force the door.

"Hurry, they've already lit part of the building!" Someone else said. She raced back to the window and leaned out to grasp the drain pipe. She grasped the pipe tightly in both hands and slid down the pipe section by section. The pipe was rough in her hands and she had to stop every few feet to re-grip the pipe after joints and brackets. She was most of the way down when the pipe shuddered and a high pitched grinding sound filled the air. The bracket she gripped tightly in her hand snapped away from the wall and she nearly fell. She bit down on her lip in an effort not to scream and closed her eyes before moving to the next section of pipe. She felt James reach up to grasp her ankle and guide her foot to the edge of the rain barrel. Then he reached up and grasped her narrow waist in his strong hands to lift her down.

"Come, there's little time." Together they ran up the darkened streets of Port Royal as the world seemed to come crashing down around them.


	18. Rebellion

It seemed to Isabelle that every side street they turned up was filled with the mob that was bent on destroying the town and the company. James Norrington knew many of the lesser streets and alleyways and guided her quickly up them.

"We have to get you back to your house, you'll be safe there."

"They marched right into company headquarters; you don't think they'll do the same up there?" Isabelle gestured wildly towards the heights where the elitist mansions sat.

"No, I think someone will have seen this and called the marines out." Even as he said it they saw a troop of marines run up the street clad in Company colors. They struck down anyone in the streets and Isabelle cringed as a volley rang out in another street. They exited the alleyway and ran up the street away from the waterfront and towards the taverns and boarding houses that lay in a part of Port Royal that Isabelle had never seen. A building erupted in flame and noise and several women went screaming up the street chased by the mob. They were not afraid though, Isabelle realized. They were giddy with the thrill of being pursued by lustful men. Isabelle gasped for breath and stared, bewildered as everything seemed to turn to ruin. James led her up another street and as they made to dash across it, a burning hay wagon came rumbling towards them, the horses pulling it screaming in fear. James grabbed Isabelle and swung her about, pinning her to the wall of one of the warehouses.

"Stay quiet…catch your breath…." He whispered. He looked up and saw the mob coming towards them. She tried to do as she was told but she could not catch her breath. "Keep your head down!" James stood close to her and shielded her face from the oncoming mob with his shoulder. He looked down into her eyes and locked them in his gaze. "Are you alright?"

"Alright?! We're being chased by a crazed mob through the streets of Port Royal and you're asking me if I'm alright?" He smiled in spite of himself and shook his head. She wheezed as she stared up at him angrily.

"I meant alright to run once this…" He stepped closer to her and leaned his head down towards hers as several of the mob members stopped near them.

"Oy mate! There'll be enough time for wenching later on!"

"Oh, leave him alone! Give her a poke for me mate!" Isabelle flinched as the man clapped James' shoulder and dragged his companion away. James did not raise his head immediately after they left. He looked down into Isabelle's fear filled eyes. She was looking over his shoulder at the passing mob, her face was still flushed from their run and a few wayward strands of her blonde hair lay across her cheek where they'd fallen from pins that had held the top half in a once neat coil at the back of her head. He brushed the strands off her heated face and brought her eyes to meet his.

Isabelle felt something wash over her, some feeling that she had been quite unfamiliar with until now. She locked eyes with James Norrington and felt an odd heat build within her. It seemed as if it started at her feet and moved slowly up through her stomach and to her cheeks. She swallowed hard as she felt his hand alight softly on her waist and she closed her eyes in an effort to keep the soft, warm fire from consuming her. Her head began to spin and then her knees buckled beneath her as the heat became too much. James caught her up and supported her as she shook her head free of the fire and tried to slow her breathing again.

"Can you go on?" He asked. The mob had moved on, they too had to keep moving or risk being seen again when another mob came up the street. Isabelle nodded and let him grasp her hand and lead her farther up the back streets of Port Royal.

"Mr. Norrington….please…I must stop…" They had passed smoldering piles of what looked to be looted Company goods, furnishings from merchant's offices, and stalls that had sold many of the goods in the market. They'd had to dodge up side streets and had twice just narrowly avoided out of control vehicles in the streets. They were about to turn up the main street leading to the big houses when Isabelle stopped James. He turned to see her eyes take on the uncanny black color he'd seen them on the night aboard the _Pearl_ so many months before. "Not that way…they're coming." She whispered. He looked to his left and saw the faint glow of torches. To his right, he could hear the commands of the captain of the guard as he deployed his troops in the street to meet the mob. This was not a good place to be, and going back was not a choice.

"Come on!" James raced out into the street and dashed across into the dense underbrush dragging Isabelle along behind him. They had only made it a few feet through the dense foliage when he heard the commander of the guard give the order to fire. James pulled Isabelle to the ground and only just in time, as he heard several stray balls go whistling above their heads. Isabelle shrieked but was quick to get up at James Norrington's behest.

"James, please….." But he would not stop and they continued to race through the brush. They came out just up the lane from the back garden gate and James dragged her towards it and quickly slipped inside. "I can't…no farther…." Isabelle shook her head and sank heavily down upon the trunk of a tree that had been felled to make room for other plants in the lower garden. She grasped her side where she'd developed a stitch, the whale bone in her corset stays restricted her breathing and she gasped for every breath her burning lungs took in. James knelt before her and looked up into her eyes.

"Deep, slow breaths. We should be safe now." He whispered to her. "Stay here, I'm going to make sure we weren't followed."

When James returned, he thought Isabelle looked pale. Her eyes were closed and she looked as if she were trying to gather every once of strength she had in her. He had had to leave her for a moment to clear his head. He had thought back to the moment when the mob had passed them by and they'd nearly been run over by the burning hay wagon. He had thought about kissing her, he'd been close to it until she'd sunk away from him. It had taken that to break his thoughts away and keep him focused on the task at hand. It had been a contributing factor to the pace he had set for them in running through the streets. He was fearful that if they stopped again he would be tempted to embrace her again. He had nearly had his chance again when the marines had opened fire and he'd had her wrapped in his arms and pinned to the ground beneath him. But he would not press or take advantage of her. It had taken him too long to gain her trust in him as a friend and he would not throw his heart idly at another woman. He had done that once with Elizabeth Swann and look where that had gotten him. He'd lost his career, he'd lost the woman he desired, and he'd lost everything he'd ever thought important. And now he found that his path was entwined with another woman, one older and more mature, and infinitely more mysterious than Elizabeth Swann had been; a woman who needed a friend above all else. For a fleeting moment he thought he might have a chance to rebuild his life, but those thoughts were instantly dismissed. He was an out of work naval officer with nothing to recommend him to someone as elevated as the sister of an English Lord; especially a Lord who ran one of the largest and most influential trade organizations in the world. James shook his head and approached the spot where she still sat upon the log. He knelt before her and took up the hand that rested upon her knee. She brought her eyes to his slowly.

"The coast is clear; we can take our time getting up to the house." They heard another volley of gunfire in the street and Isabelle gasped and flinched at the sound and the screams that followed. James Norrington thought it was the noise that frightened her, but in reality, she felt the fear, anger, panic and death of the people in the streets below. Isabelle moved to rise but sank back down to the log when her knees were like jelly beneath her. James had caught a brief glance of her side and saw blood there. "You're injured!" He pulled her coat aside and looked at the red bloom of blood upon her side as he pulled a kerchief from his coat pocket. "When did this happen?"

"What?" She looked down to the spot on her left side and shook her head. "It doesn't hurt at all….I…" then she looked at her right hand as she realized that the bloody spot on her bodice was about where she had felt the stitch in her side. Her side didn't hurt, but her hand was on fire and covered in blood. She glanced down at her skirts and saw great red streaks and hand prints staining the brocade where she had held them aloft as she and James had sprinted through the streets. "I think it's my hand…" He glanced from her side to her hand and sighed in relief. A hand was an easy thing to patch up. He quickly folded his kerchief and wrapped it around her hand to stem the flow of blood. It was a deep cut across her palm and fingers and he wondered briefly where she'd gotten it. "It must have been from the bracket on the drain pipe when we escaped head quarters." She answered the unasked question, in part because she'd read his mind and in part because she had thought of it herself.

"That would explain the amount of blood…" James said standing up. She looked up at him a bit blearily. "You've been bleeding for some time now."

"It's on your coat…I'm sorry…" She said seeing the stains on the wool lapels. She didn't want to think on how long it had been since she had left the house. An hour, or tow? Less?

"It won't hurt anything." He answered quickly, his voice breaking into her thoughts. "Can you make it to the house?"

"As long as you promise not to make me run." She quipped. He smiled down at her as he helped her to her feet and together they made their way slowly up towards the house. _At least she still had her sense of humor._ James thought as they went through the garden.

"Thank you." She said as they rounded a bend in the path and approached the formal gardens.

"For what?"

"For rescuing me. I'd have been consigned to quite a nasty fate if not for you…."

"Let us not think about that." James Norrington said as he caught her arm when she tripped. She closed her eyes and shook her head. The marines had just fired another volley into the mob. The mob had broken and now their fear threatened to overwhelm her. "You're weak…"

"I'm fine…" She answered shortly. Her voice held a biting tone that she hadn't intended. She did not want to appear weak in front of James Norrington for some reason.

"I didn't mean it to be an insult to you. I just meant that the past hour has been quite trying…for us both."

"I just need to rest again…my head is pounding…" That was true. She might have caught her breath but her heart was still pounding and her head throbbed with every beat. It didn't help that the conflict in the city was playing havoc on her senses. All she wanted to do was to sit down and rest for just a moment…

"Allow me…" Suddenly she was swept up in James Norrington's arms.

"No, I can walk…." She said pushing feebly against his shoulder.

"Shh…don't be so stubborn and relax." Reluctantly she held to him with her left arm and rested her head against his shoulder. Her eyes felt heavy and she closed her eyes against the throbbing pain of the distant screams from Port Royal. James made his way quickly through the garden and towards the side door. "Hello! Anne! Henry! Is someone there?" He kicked on the door and wasn't too surprised to see Henry standing on the other side with a long rifle pointed at him.

"Mr. Norrington?" Henry's eyes drifted from James Norrington to Isabelle. "What on earth…?"

"Let me in and I'll explain everything." Henry opened the door and stood out of the way as James came into the house and carried Isabelle directly to the parlor. "Call for Anne to bring up some hot water and some clean bandages. Miss Beckett cut her hand."

"Isabelle?" Cutler Beckett had heard the commotion and had left his office to see what was going on. He glanced from James Norrington to Isabelle where he had laid her on a low couch. "What happened?"

"A mob attacked the headquarters right after she went in." James explained. "We were trapped up on the second floor of the offices and had to come down a drain pipe. One of the brackets came free and she cut her hand on it. It took us over an hour to make it through the streets to get here, but neither one of us noticed her hand bleeding until we got here. She was too weak to carry on…"

"Well, Mr. Norrington, you have gone above and beyond your duty to the Company in the protecting of my sister. We are forever in your debt." Isabelle stirred on the couch and opened her eyes. They were dark and Cutler gently sat down beside her. "How do you feel Isabelle?"

"Tired…" She took a deep breath and tried to sit up, but Cutler placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

"Rest here. Anne will be along shortly to properly bandage your hand." Cutler looked distastefully at the dirty kerchief that was already beginning to soak through with blood.

"Mr. Norrington and I have some things to discuss." Cutler stood and left the room even as Anne entered the room with a basin of water to wash her Mistress's wound. "Come along Mr. Norrington."

James caught Isabelle's gaze and she nodded at him.

"Thank you again, Mr. Norrington. It seems you are always saving me from wretched situations I get myself in."

"What are friends for?" He asked with a bow and a smile at her. She closed her eyes again as she smiled slightly back at him and he followed her brother into his library.


	19. Aftermath

**_A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update. I had no internent over the break. But I did have plenty of time to write. Chapters should come much faster now. Enjoy and please review!_**

* * *

Isabelle sat in the library and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. Her head still ached even though the mob had been put down the day before. The headquarters of the East India Trading Company was uninhabitable; the lower clerks and accountants were sifting through the rubble trying to find anything that might be salvageable. The day after the uprising, she had made her report to Cutler.

"Lord Beckett?"

"Ah, Isabelle! I'm so glad you're alright." But he didn't even look up from his ledger as she came into the room. Isabelle stood before the desk and held out the green folio she'd rescued from the headquarters building. Cutler looked up at it as if he wasn't sure what it was. He took it from her slowly and perused the contents. "You were able to retrieve it…" He said distractedly.

"Yes. I had found it just as Jame…Mr. Norrington found me." She had almost used James Norrington's given name and Cutler had noticed. He looked up at her with one eyebrow arched high on his pale forehead. "I didn't have time or the ability to get anything else."

"Well, you didn't disappoint for once." Cutler's voice was cold and dry; he tossed the portfolio onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. "Have you anything else to report?"

"About?"

"Well, did you see anyone…was there anything unusual that you saw or felt?"

"Not exactly. I felt the discontent, but that's been brewing for some time."

"You didn't report that earlier." Cutler snapped.

"Well I didn't think it would get this bad, my lord."

"You should have told me at the slightest sign!"

"Mrs. Grossvenor is upset because her cat went missing last week. She was dreadfully upset by the whole affair and could think of nothing else the other day in the market. Is she a security threat?" Isabelle was tired and her temper was short. She regretted her outburst even as she was still speaking.

"Isabelle, you are out of line. I will excuse it for now simply because I know you must be tired after your ordeal." Cutler's voice was like the marble of the mantle piece; cold and flat. "You are dismissed."

Isabelle stood her ground for a moment but left after only a moment's hesitation. When she reached the door though she remembered something and turned back. "There was something else."

"Yes?" Cutler had gone back to his reports and seemed distracted.

"There was no coin in the accountants' desks in the office."

"You were going to steal from the company?" Cutler stopped writing and brought his cold gray eyes to focus on her. She felt as if someone had dumped her in a tub of ice and was holding her beneath the surface.

"Of course not! I thought to keep it from being consigned to the fire, or to keep it out of the mob's hands…."

"I'm sure…"

"It's the truth! But the trays were empty! I swear it; someone had cleaned out that office before I got there!"

"Yes well, Isabelle, it is fortunate for me that there was a shipment to England the day before. In fact, that ship's manifold is what was in this file." He said tapping the green portfolio. "So you see, I know there was not gold there."

"Then why did you accuse me of trying to steal it if you knew it wasn't there?"

"Because I know that you didn't know that." Isabelle didn't understand. Cutler was making no sense to her and she was too tired to try to deal with it. "Leave, Isabelle. You'll be doing a lot of work in the wake of this catastrophe." Isabelle left the room and almost slammed the door on her brother once on the carpeted floor of the foyer. She stood with her hand on the outside handle and felt as the flames of his anger buffered against the door. She had not genuflected as he thought she should have….she had not showed him the proper respect on her departure.

"Good, he's angry and I'm angry, at least he knows how it feels." She stalked away from the door and went to the parlor for the rest of the day.

* * *

A few days later she was called to the library, which had become a sort of temporary headquarters for the Company, to tell her tale to an insurance representative, a lawyer and the captain of the guard. The three men listened to her story carefully, the lawyer and the insurance representative taking careful notes and the marine listening with careful disdain.

"Did you recognize any of the people in the mob?" The Lawyer asked.

"No."

"Do you think if you were to see them again you could identify the brigands?"

"Sir, it was dark, the shadows cast from the fires were long. I was terrified. I wouldn't have recognized my own brother had he been on the streets that night."

"Are you sure?" He was pressing her to find someone they could pin the whole thing on. If it was just a nameless mob, there could be no real trial, and the entire city of Port Royal would be known as a city of criminals and arsonists. It would be over run by similar criminals hoping to find sanctuary amongst their own. She saw where the lawyer's imagination went and saw Port Royal degenerating into another Tortuga.

"I could recognize no one."

"Thank you Miss Beckett." The insurance agent said with a forced smile. "I believe that will be all." The marine stood by the door and bowed her out of the room. The door clicked behind her softly and she heard the men talking on the other side. Most of the words were lost to her, but she felt their unease. They had to pin these crimes on someone. How could no one be identifiable in the crowd? A knock on the main door sounded and Isabelle waved the majordomo off and answered it herself.

"Mr. Norrington!" Isabelle stepped back with a smile and let him in. "You look well this morning."

"Thank you, Miss Beckett." James said with a small bow. He was wearing a new coat of navy blue and his brown hair was combed back and clean. His face, which usually bore at lest one days' growth of beard, was free of any hair and his eyes were bright and clear. The cut and color of his new coat brought out the color of his eyes, something she only rarely noticed, and the shape of his broad shoulders; his waist coat was flashy champagne colored brocade. He took a deep breath and subconsciously ran his hands over the fine embroidery on his waistcoat.

"Don't worry, it suits you." She smiled as she shut the door and turned back to him. "I suppose you're here for…" She nodded towards the library door and he nodded.

"Yes, I'm to give my deposition." He sighed as he dropped his arms to his sides.

"They asked if I recognized anyone from that night." Isabelle whispered.

"Did you?"

"Honestly Mr. Norrington, I cut my hand and bled all over half of Port Royal and was none the wiser to it. Do you really think I recognized anyone in the street?" She moved across the foyer towards the library door and felt James' eyes on her.

"How is your hand?" She was wearing a long sleeved chemise beneath her dress, the sleeves of the under gown covered her hand up to her knuckles. The steel blue silk of her dress shimmered as she moved across the room. "You're hiding it?"

"It's better to hide it Mr. Norrington. If everyone were to see it, they might start asking questions, and then I'd have to tell them that I cut myself descending a drain pipe like some sort of jungle creature. Wouldn't that just scandalize all of Port Royal?" She had a mischievous smile playing about the corner of her mouth as she looked up at him with one eyebrow arched. "I'd also probably have to tell them who it was that coerced me into descending the previously mentioned drain pipe. Better for all parties involved that this remain hidden." She said raising her hand up and waving it slightly.

"You're probably right. The parlors of this city are already terror filled enough." Isabelle nodded as they stood outside the library. Finally, Isabelle raised her left hand to knock on the door and waited until the marine came to admit James Norrington.

She did not see him when he left and she did not see him in the days that followed. She did see the ship builders who were concerned that their money might have burned up with the company building. Assured that it wasn't, they gave Cutler an assessment on how far along his precious new ship was.

"Her keel is laid and she's coming along ahead of schedule. The second level of gun decks is going down as we speak."

"She'll be ready to sail then by the appointed date?" Cutler asked. Isabelle was in the room taking files from Cutler out to Mercer. Of the two places being in the Library with Cutler was the lesser of the two hells. The ship builders looked at each other and nodded.

"Of course my Lord. With any luck she'll slip from her dry dock ahead of schedule." Isabelle wanted to laugh. They weren't about to tell Cutler that his ship was actually a month behind schedule and that it would take a small miracle to get it in the water by the desired date. Isabelle delivered the files to Mercer and held the door for the ship builders to leave.

"Were they honest, Isabelle? Is the _Endeavor_ really ahead of schedule?"

"The _Endeavor?"_

"Yes, that's to be the name of the new ship. It'll be the fastest, most powerful ship in the Caribbean. Even the _Dauntless_ and _Interceptor_ will have had nothing on this ship." Cutler said with a gleam in his eyes. How could she tell him that his new ship, _The Endeavor_, was a month behind schedule?

"It's a fine name…"

"But will it be ready on time?" Cutler pressed. Isabelle sighed and approached his desk.

"I don't think it will, My Lord." She saw his face fall, as if he were a child told he could not have a puppy before his birthday. "They are behind schedule as it is, more than a month so, and it will take a small miracle to get it finished by the date you desired."

Cutler slammed his hand into the desk and his face turned an odd shade of red.

"Mercer!" Isabelle shuddered as Mr. Mercer came into the room. "I want you to go down to the ship yard, set up a marine presence and get those builders working faster. I want that ship done!"

"Yes My Lord." Mercer bowed and left the room, glaring at Isabelle as he did so.

"You are dismissed, Isabelle." Isabelle curtsied and left the room to take up refuge in the parlor. Cutler certainly was in a foul mood these days.

* * *

Months passed and storms plagued the island off and on through the end of the summer months. Businessmen tracked mud and dirt through the foyer of the house and into the parlor and library conducting business while the former offices were demolished and reconstruction began. Isabelle tried to help the house servants with the cleaning but they would hear none of it. She tried to help make suggestions for the new office, and to find new space--that her home would be returned to her--but Cutler would hear none of it. She felt useless; she could not help with housework and Cutler wouldn't allow her to help with anything Company related. Weeks passed by and Isabelle watched as the world seemed to move around her. She saw nothing of James Norrington; she eventually discovered that he'd been sent to England at Cutler's request and had gone telling hardly a soul of his intentions. Isabelle had only found out when she had spoken to the woman who managed the boarding house James had taken a room in. And even that small discovery was only because the woman's mind had drifted to the sea chest that Norrington had left in her care and wondered to whom she should send or give it should he not return. The warm summer slipped imperceptibly into a balmy autumn and that changed into a gray winter. Port Royal was not what it once used to be. What had once been a happy, colorful, and prosperous town in the New World was now a drab, lifeless, sad place. The only people staying in the city were those with businesses that could not be transported, or merchants, who felt far safer in Port Royal, protected by the guns of the royal marines. Isabelle often wondered if the merchants were staying because they felt protected, as they often tried to convince themselves, or if it was because they were terrified Cutler might turn the guns on them if they left.

* * *

Isabelle knelt in church after the other parishioners had left and prayed an extra moment for strength, and for protection for William and Elizabeth—wherever they might be. Nothing was known about their location, at least not that Isabelle knew, and she wondered what might have happened to the Governor's daughter and the blacksmith. She had seen Governor Swann in church; the man looked ten years older than he had the day she and Cutler had come to Port Royal. _Gracious, we've been here just under a year._ Isabelle thought as she ended her prayer and crossed herself as she entered the wide aisle to leave the church. Governor Swann was held quite solidly beneath the thumb of the company and he looked all the more worn for dealing with both affairs of state and acting on the King's behalf and dealing with business that Cutler set to him. The Governor had been arrested after Elizabeth Swann's jail break and had been black mailed into supporting the company to maintain his freedom. On top of the business tasks he dealt with, he was worrying himself sick over his missing daughter. Isabelle knew that the Governor had privately funded three different vessels to seek out his daughter or find any news as to her whereabouts. She also knew that he had offered quite a substantial reward for that information.

Isabelle stepped out into the early spring sunlight and saw several ladies chattering animatedly to someone. Isabelle didn't take the time to look to see who it was. Probably a traveling salesman, come to delight the ladies with the latest fashions from Paris and London. Isabelle strolled towards the church yard gate and saw that it was not a salesman, but Mr. Norrington they were all speaking with. She paused for a moment and stared, willing herself not to smile or to insinuate herself into the group of hens crowding around the man. She thought it odd that only a few months ago these women had looked at James Norrington with disdain, as if he were something less than human. Now they were flitting about him as if they were gulls and he were a great catch laid out for their own personal feast. She heard one of them ask about fashions in England. _Trying to make sure they can keep up appearances with the Continent. Easier said than done in this place. He doesn't even realize he's being used, does he…?_ Madeline LeBouviette suddenly appeared in Isabelle's path and beamed at her. The girl would have been a stunning beauty, if not for her long, yellow, jagged teeth and Isabelle might have liked her if she wasn't such a featherhead with a mind turned to slander and gossip.

"Oh, Miss Beckett! Isn't it just wonderful?"

"I have no idea of what you speak, Miss Le Bouviette. What is so wonderful?"

"Why, Mr. Norrington returning and getting a position with your brother's company, of course! Isn't it exciting?"

"I hadn't known he'd been appointed. I shall have to congratulate him."

"Congratulate who?" Isabelle turned and looked up at James Norrington who had come up behind her.

"Why you of course!" Madeline answered, beaming at him and striking his arm playfully with her fan. "I was just telling her of your appointment as Admiral in the East India Company."

"Yes, Congratulations." Isabelle said, yet she did not feel excited for him, she could see in his eyes that he was not truly proud of the appointment. Or perhaps it was merely the way she'd found out that disappointed him. "I had no idea…."

"Why surely you must have, Miss Beckett? How could his Lordship possibly have kept something like this hidden?!"

"Because, Miss LeBouviette, some people practice discretion." Isabelle snapped, her voice taking on the chill of the late February day. She nodded to the stunned girl and swept past both her and Mr. Norrington. "Good day to you both. You shall have to call upon his lordship and myself at your earliest convenience."

"_Admiral Norrington."_ Isabelle mentally corrected herself. How could she have not known? She stepped up into her coach and returned home, her anger slowly building.

* * *

**_A/N: More to come, and soon too! Thanks for your patience!_**


	20. Rise to Power

Isabelle listened with disdain as the ship builders returned to give an accurate update on the progress of the _Endeavor_. Mercer's men had certainly made an impression and kept the builders to task since their erroneous report on the ship's progress more than two months before. An unusually dry spell of weather had also aided the work being done. The men left soon after, their fear, which hung about them like a pungent poultice following them.

"Were they honest this time?" Cutler asked as Isabelle stared at the closed library door. It was a question he had repeated since her first report to him on the status of the ship.

"Quite honest." She answered flatly. "They might even be able to launch the _Endeavor _earlier than they told you. As soon as the sailcloth and cables arrive, she'll be fully rigged and ready to sail."

"Isabelle, dearest, what is the matter?" Cutler rose from his desk and came to stand before her. He placed his hands upon her shoulders and sighed. "You seem so put off of late. Why? Has someone angered you? Has something been said at market or at church?"

"No. Nothing."

"That's good. I'd hate for you to carry your anger to the Admiral's acceptance party."

"Acceptance party? What acceptance party?" Isabelle asked through narrow eyes. "When is this?"

"I could not have forgotten….surely I told you?"

"Told me what?" Isabelle was growing weary of his games. She knew he wanted her to read what it was he was hiding from her. He wanted her to go after it, to use her gift to seek it out, to plumb his mind for the information she desired. It was a test. She could do it, that would be easy, but she did not know with what else that information would come; far safer to let him tell her.

"Why Isabelle, can't you tell? Tell me, what am I thinking?"

"I won't do it. I'm quite tired and don't feel up to it at the moment. This power is not a play thing to be used at will." Cutler's eyes darkened like the sky during a hurricane.

"You'll do what I tell you, when I tell you."

"No I won't." Isabelle had had it. For weeks she'd been kept in the dark, for weeks she'd been doing mundane tasks, and for months Cutler had used and abused her and her gift. Now he was angry, not only had she denied him, but she'd used the word 'power,' something that he wanted all of. She felt as if iron had been poured into her spine and she stood tall in front of him. "I told you I'm tired."

"Very well, since you're feeling ill, Admiral Norrington will be officially commissioned as a Company agent next Friday. It is to be the social event of the summer."

"I shall have to have Ann help me in altering a dress. I do wish you had told me sooner, I might have been able to have one made before this event."

"No need, I've already had one made for you." Isabelle saw joy in his eyes, joy that came from knowing that Isabelle was right where he wanted her. "I suppose it will have to be a surprise."

"As you wish." Isabelle curtsied and fled the room as fast as she could. She went out into the garden and fell to her knees beside a bench beneath an arbor. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the fragrant spring air, the scents of damp, clean earth and tropic flowers helping to calm her rattled nerves. In the past six months it had become harder and harder to fight off Cutler's rising emotions. His stress was becoming her stress and she did not know how to deal with it all. She looked at a fern nodding in the soft breeze and focused on the lady bug crawling across the plant's broad leaf. The bug took flight and she continued to stare at it as it flitted into the deeper jungle. She wished that she could take off so easy and disappear. That would save so many of her problems.

* * *

The week slipped by slowly and the evening of the gala Isabelle sat in her room waiting with a servant.

"What dress shall you be wearing miss?" The girl asked.

"I don't know. My brother said it was to be a surprise." Isabelle stared into her mirror and combed out the end of her long hair. It was starting to pick up some of the natural highlights from being in the sun. Her hair wasn't yellow anymore, but gold, wheat, honey and a few strands here and there of blazing copper.

"And so it is." Isabelle pulled her robe shut and stood as Cutler came into the room. He had chosen a wine colored coat over a black and wine waist coat. A black silk cravat spilled black lace from his throat and the white lace of his shirt was just visible beneath the wide cuffs of the coat. He wore black breeches and white hose; the buckles of his shoes shone in the lamp light. Isabelle curtsied briefly and looked to the man behind him who stared stonily at the wall beyond her. "Your gown…" The man stepped forward and presented a box to Isabelle's servant who looked from her mistress to his Lordship, wondering what she was to do. Isabelle strolled forward and opened the box to reveal her gown. She turned to see Cutler's catlike grin, his eyes piercing her skin.

"You can't expect me to wear this?" Isabelle gestured at the box and approached him.

"Why, sister, you do not like it? I thought it quite lovely…."

"I do appreciate the thought, but I can not be seen in such garb. Cutler what is the meaning of this?" Isabelle felt the atmosphere of the room change the way the air did before a brutal storm. She shivered and pulled the thin material of her dressing gown closer across her chest, but she would not break his gaze.

"Mariah, Joshua---leave." Cutler's tone left nothing to be argued and the maid lay the box upon the chest at the foot of Isabelle's bed and scuttled out. Cutler's man shut the door with a soft click. Isabelle knew that any decorum that had been shown was now gone and both servants had their ears pressed against the doors in the hopes of hearing something juicy to share below the stairs. "How _dare _you?"

"How dare you!?" Isabelle shot back. "How can you expect me to go to the social event of the year wearing this?!?" She lifted the gown from box to reveal what looked to be the blue and gold of a company jacket. The skirt and bodice were also company colors from what she could see.

"You'll wear it and you'll say nothing about it. You are a company employee Isabelle. It's time you start dressing like one." Cutler turned on his heel but stopped short when he heard her fling the garment in her hands back in the box.

"I will not go. You'll tell everyone how dreadfully sorry I am not to be able to attend." Cutler moved amazingly quick and gripped her by the throat in a matter of seconds. She grasped his wrist in her hands, but felt what little strength she had drain from her body.

"You _will not_ give orders to _me_, Isabelle. You will do as you're told and you will do it post haste or I will see to it that you won't want to leave this house for a month. I'll also see to it that your precious allowance is ceased as you will be unable to do any work." Isabelle's eyes widened. "Oh yes Isabelle, I'm fully aware of your charitable work in the town. You think I don't know that you've been feeding these miscreants? Have you forgotten the raid last summer?"

"I haven't forgotten." Isabelle whispered. "But I won't forget the children either." Cutler shoved her away from him and watched as she grasped her own throat to protect it from further bruising.

"What is it going to be Isabelle, the gala? Or a ceasing of your charity?" He watched as Isabelle stood up and glared at him with hate filled eyes.

"I'll go. But I won't like it." Cutler stormed from the room. She heard a shriek from her maid as he surprised the two servants standing at the door.

"Get her ready and be quick about it!" The maid trotted into the room and looked at where Isabelle stood at the mirror, staring at the slight bruises beginning to form on her neck.

"Miss?"

"You heard his Lordship. Help get me dressed." The girl helped Isabelle with layering petticoats over the wood and bone frame that would hold her skirts out into a fashionable bell. The girl smoothed the navy skirt so it lay smooth and flat and drifted against the Turkish carpet she knelt upon. The front of the dress contained a panel of golden colored brocade that glittered in the lamplight. The bodice was a sleeveless affair of a goldenrod color and low cut to show the swell of her breasts. The coat went over the whole affair and was cut so as to be fashionable upon the frame of a woman, but blatantly imitated the coats worn by East India Marines. A wide saffron colored sash hung from her waist and the tasseled ends of it hung down beneath the tails of the coat which was heavy with gold braid. Isabelle's long blonde hair was pulled back into a simple long ponytail and tied with a large black ribbon. Her maid curled the ends of the tail so that it was far more feminine and dressier than a simple tie back.

"Miss, what be that on your neck?" Isabelle looked into the mirror and turned her head in spite of the pain it caused her. She could see the place where Cutler's thumb had dug into her pale skin. The bruise was faint, but it would darken and it was obviously noticeable.

"Fetch me a navy colored ribbon and my jewel box." Isabelle said distractedly as she powdered her neck carefully. The maid brought the items and Isabelle quickly found a small broach and pinned it to the center of the ribbon which she then tied about her neck. The golden colored gem flickered in the light and perfectly matched her bodice, gold filigree around it picked up the accents of the gold braid upon the coat and hem of her skirt.

"My, but you do look grand miss." The girl said stepping back to allow Isabelle to sweep past her.

"I look like a fool." Isabelle said as she turned back to take one last look in the mirror. "I'll be the laughing stock of the town after this."

"Oh miss, I don't think it'll be as all bad as that." Isabelle turned dark, angry eyes on the poor servant that instantly silenced her. "Sorry miss. It wasn't my place."

"You're right, it wasn't. Good evening. I shall wake you if I need your assistance this later."

"Yes ma'am." The girl curtsied as Isabelle swept from the room and down the stairs to the library.

Cutler looked up from his files as his adopted sister burst into the library. He smiled for the second time seeing her barely concealed anger dance upon her smooth features. He had had the dress made especially to show her her place and she was obviously not pleased with the situation.

"My, but you do look fine, Isabelle my dear."

"Thank you my lord, your kindness is over whelming."

"Don't be like that Isabelle. It doesn't suit you." Isabelle waited as he approached her. She felt trapped, she should have left long ago; run away from him and never looked back, but she had so hoped that he would change. She was beginning to come to terms with how twisted he was and how deeply seated it was. He stopped before her and tipped her chin up so her brown eyes met his cold gray ones. "You must be on your best behavior this evening. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you? Really, I don't want you overshadowing the Admiral's return to the ranks of the privileged." He leaned in so his mouth was close to her ear. "But as your attire insinuates, you are on duty this evening. Anything of import, you are to bring directly to me. Do not fail me Isabelle." He smiled again as he went past her into the foyer where he took up his cane and hat from the butler and led Isabelle into the bright starry night.

* * *

Isabelle felt every eye in the room on her as she entered the foyer of the governor's mansion. Governor Swann was on the stairs leading up to the bed chambers and was speaking to someone that Isabelle didn't recognize. She followed Cutler to the ball room and tried to ignore the thoughts that swirled around the room.

"_What is she wearing?"_

"_Ha, how clever, she looks like an East India agent."_

"_I wouldn't be caught dead in a gown so hideous…"_

"_I wouldn't go far from the confines of the Governor's mansion dressed in that…."_

Isabelle stuck her chin out, squared her shoulders and made to move down the stairs. Cutler grasped her arm in a painful grip and hissed in her ear.

"Remember, anything of use." He stared pointedly at her as she moved away from him and hoped to get lost in the swirling crowd of the governor's ball room.

She picked up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sipped at the sparkling wine. She dearly wished she could down it in one great gulp but knew she could and should not. She had blocked out the entire room from her consciousness and felt remarkably numb. Occasionally something battered at her senses, as one would batter against a fortress one might be trying to seize, but she was impervious to it. She'd stand up to Cutler the only way she knew how, by not gathering any information for him. She sipped again at her drink and then saw Governor Swann make his way to an elevated platform from which he could speak. He raised his arms and waited as a ripple of excitement passed through the packed room. Isabelle felt ready to swoon; the smell of sweat and too much of too many different perfumes assaulted her nostrils and she moved towards an open window.

"I'd like to welcome you all this evening to my home. It is good to see so many fresh and happy faces. This place has been empty for far too long." The feeling of sadness and worry for his daughter coming from the governor threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to leave. "We are gathered here for the auspicious occasion of welcoming an old friend of ours back from a dark period in his life. This man gave much of himself in the service of King and country, and now, having retired from the military life, finds that he is suited to little else."

"_Except rum."_ The thought was born around the room like a song sung in a round. Isabelle shook her head to clear it.

"Mr. Norrington solicited his services to Lord Beckett and I'm happy to formally announce that he accepted this man's aid. I'm very pleased to present to everyone, Mr.—I mean, Admiral—James Norrington." Isabelle saw Admiral Norrington step up to the platform beside the governor, to whom he bowed. Isabelle knew that in fact the governor was not pleased to announce that James had elevated himself from Kings Navy Commodore to Trading Company Admiral in little less than a year. She also knew he was not happy with being pressed into work as a Trading Company puppet from his lofty status of King's Governor. A ripple of polite applause raced around the room and Isabelle joined in. She saw her brother join the two other men on the platform and smile. There were whispered threats and imaginings of someone assassinating her brother. She tried to find out who it might be. Then she remembered how angry she was at Cutler and realized that a bullet would end many of her problems.

"_You can't think like that! For all the harm he has ever done you, you owe him and his father a great debt. This is your penance for years of a privileged life."_

Isabelle danced with a few men but for the most part everyone avoided her. That suited her quite well. She was speaking with one of the merchants' wives when she saw someone approach from her peripheral.

"Ah! Admiral! I was so hoping I might catch your ear this evening. I did so want to congratulate you on your status personally." The woman said as she extended her hand towards James Norrington. Isabelle turned her eyes from them and scanned the room. "_You're a drunk and a fool. You lost your commission from the King in an act of foolishness. Even a rank such as Admiral makes you unfit to shine my son's boots." _Isabelle stared at the woman as she laughed up into James' face at some witty remark he'd just made. James brushed his lips across the back of the woman's hand and looked over at Isabelle. The stricken look upon her face seemed odd.

"Miss Beckett, it is good to see you as well. You look…wonderful this evening."

"_You look as if you were dressed to match me at a Grande Bal Masque."_ Isabelle smiled at the errant thought that skipped through the annals of her brain. It would not have been funny, save for the fact she'd thought the same thing.

"Yes, you look well yourself Mr. Norrington." She laughed, a hollow sound to her own ears. "I mean Admiral! My, I shall have to do much better at remembering your title now!"

"Mrs. Marshall, I was so hoping I might steal Miss Beckett from your side that I might share the next dance with her." He said smiling again at the Merchant. "Do you mind at all?"

"Heaven's no!'

"_And be rid of you both? I'd leap at the chance!"_ Isabelle narrowed her eyes at the vile woman she'd been speaking with and placed her hand into James Norrington's gloved one.

"Thank you Mrs. Marshall. Have a wonderful evening." Isabelle was swept out to the floor and slipped easily into the formation.

"You do look lovely this evening." James whispered to her as they came together for a brief moment. She had to twirl and twist through the footwork with another and then came back to stand beside James.

"I look like a fool. Lord Beckett is trying to show me my place." They were separated again and when they came back together she smiled. "No matter. I shall just have to grin and bear it."

"Are you well?" She nodded but they were separated for the final time before she came to stand back before him and she curtsied low. He quickly caught her upper arm and whispered "Go along with me." She looked up at him questioningly. "Come Miss Beckett….you just need some fresh air."

"Oh…oh yes, some air…" She waved her hand before her face and acted somewhat faint as she let James guide her through the crowd that pressed around them. She lowered her defenses for a moment and lighted on both Cutler and Mercer's consciousnesses in the gentleman's parlor. They would not care that she and the Admiral were taking the air. They exited into the moon-washed garden and the admiral finally let go of her arm. They turned down one of the well manicured paths and went around the corner of the house. A passing waiter held a tray with several flutes of champagne and Admiral Norrington grabbed two before the servant went back inside.

"Miss Beckett." He said handing her one of the glasses.

"Thank you." Isabelle sipped at her drink and looked up at James Norrington as he knocked back half of the drink in one swig. "You're not enjoying yourself." She said with a grin as she sipped her drink again.

"How could you tell?" He said, a crooked grin twisting the side of his face. He would not even deny it.

"Call it an intuition." She smiled. "And how could you tell that I needed to take the air?"

"Call it an intuition." He parroted. "You look well."

"Better than I was…now that I'm away from those…dunces." She waved an arm dismissively towards the mansion where the sound of the string quartet spilled across the lawns. "I should not speak so. This is your great return to society! You don't need me to act the dead weight and drag you down."

"_I'd rather spend an evening drug down by you than with these flippant popinjays." _Isabelle looked up at him and had to quickly look away lest he suspect something. "As you said, I'm not enjoying myself at all." Laughter drew near and James led Isabelle quickly down a darkened path away from the windows and the main path.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" He stopped in the shadows and looked down at her. He could only barely make out her silhouette, the gold braid illuminated in the dull torchlight coming from the house. He looked much the same to her, a silhouette highlighted by gold braid that reflected in the torchlight. He was silent for a moment and then he grasped her hand in his. "I have not seen you since the day I gave my deposition to your brother and his lawyers. He sent me to England shortly after that. Tell me, are you truly well?"

"Why do you keep asking that?" She hissed back up at him.

"Because I can see in your eyes that something is wrong. That you're aggravated by something or someone." He sighed heavily. "I'd hate to think that in being gone so long I'd lost you as a friend."

She didn't know what to do or say. For the first time she truly realized that she had been angry at James. He _had _left her, without so much as a 'by your leave.' He had gone to England, leaving her to fend for herself in Port Royal, and had never once sent her a letter. She'd been jealous, the day of his return, when she'd seen him outside the church speaking with the other ladies. She had believed he'd abandoned her, she had not realized how much she truly depended on him. But now she felt her heart soar and she smiled in spite of herself. _What a relief!_

"Is that what you're worried about?" She smiled and he could see her white, even teeth flash in the darkness. "Why, for heavens sake! I thought it was _I _who had lost _you _as a friend. I hadn't heard from you….and now…well--I just haven't been myself lately."

"Thank goodness." He smiled too. "Not that you've been out of sorts, but that we're still friends. I know none of them are true friends. The governor will hardly acknowledge me as he once did."

"Isabelle!!!" Isabelle sighed and grasped James' hands.

"We need to get back."

"Yes. I wish we could speak more." He whispered as they moved back up the gravel path. He stopped abruptly. "One last question though before we return to the doldrums."

"Yes?"

"Why did you choose that dress? Not that you don't look stunning, but it's not exactly up to par with your usual good taste."

"Ugh, this?" She stopped and grasped a handful of the heavy navy velvet. "Cutler chose it. Believe me, this is not my first choice in attire. He thought it a very great surprise and a wonderful present." She heard him laugh. She would not tell him about the fight. Domestic arguments were best kept behind closed doors. They continued until they could just make out Lord Beckett's frame in a pool of light spilling from the ball room.

"There you are, dear. Come, I wish to lead you out in the next dance."

"Of course my Lord." James Norrington squeezed her hand for one brief moment and watched as she allowed Lord Beckett to lead her back into the ball room.

The overwhelming feeling that something was not right bore down on him as he watched them walk away. He had thought he'd seen bruises on her throat and even now he thought she staggered as Lord Beckett grasped her arm.

Something was still not right in the Beckett household.


	21. Raging Storms

Isabelle was detained at Cutler's side for the remainder of the evening. She often looked across the room to find James Norrington engaged in bland conversation. His eyes would wander to hers and for a brief moment they shared a commiserating feeling of captivity. As the evening came to a close Cutler escorted Isabelle into the moonlight and thrust her into the carriage before rapping the silver handle of his cane against the roof of the coach to signal that the footman could drive.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you mean 'well what'?" Cutler hissed. "You know very well what."

Isabelle glared at Cutler from across the coach, but she did not say a word. "Answer me Isabelle." Cutler's tone was low, dark and forbidding.

"I don't think it prudent to discuss this in the open road. Someone might overhear."

"I don't care who overhears." Cutler rolled his eyes as the coach bounced into a deep pothole and tossed them about the interior. "Won't these provincials ever learn to properly pave and maintain a street?"

"It's been a hard winter. Most of the men who would stoop to such labor have either left the island or been incarcerated."

"I believe, Isabelle, that you are accusing me for the decline of this hovel of a town."

"Nothing of the sort My Lord. I'm merely making an observation. That is the reason I'm in your employ, is it not?"

"Touche, Isabelle." Cutler grinned. "Very well, I can see you're in a smart mood tonight. I only hope that you consider your words carefully when we get back to the manor and your tone improves." Isabelle shuddered in spite of herself and gazed at the dark countryside that they passed by. What was she to tell Cutler? She'd caught a few tidbits of information that might be of use to him, but she'd otherwise done her damndest to ignore everyone. The effort she'd put into the evening had left her physically and mentally exhausted and her entire body felt as an open wound…the very air made her soul prickle. She was quite exposed to the thoughts racing through Cutler's mind, and through Mr. Mercer's mind; he was up with the driver. Isabelle chanced a glance at Cutler and saw that he was staring intently at her. "You know what I'm thinking, don't you Isabelle?" She shook her head but he was not convinced. "You think you can lie to me, but you can't. Your eyes reveal much. You're afraid, you're as afraid as a hare caught between a snare and a rabid dog. You know every small thing I'm going to do to you if you don't give me what I want…can't you?"

Slowly, imperceptibly, Isabelle nodded.

"I can't hear your head rattle in the darkness Isabelle, answer me."

"Yes." She blurted out. She saw the menacing brand glow red in her mind's eye and she stared at a distant star.

"Tell me."

"The brand; you'd use it on me."

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of marking your arm or any place as visible as that. It wouldn't be right." She saw an expanse of skin in her mind, a shoulder blade, a thigh, a calf…. the curve of a woman's hip. "Perhaps all of them? We'll be able to count your lies in the years to come."

"You wouldn't dare." Isabelle flared. "You can't."

"I can and I will. Do you forget? My father bought you from that pit of an asylum. You work for _me_ now, not my father, and I can do with you what I like." Isabelle clenched her jaw and sat in stony silence as the coach rattled to a stop outside the house. Mr. Mercer leapt from the drivers' box and opened the door for her and Cutler to exit. Cutler grasped her arm and escorted her into the library where he flung her into a chair roughly. He towered over her as Mr. Mercer strolled through the shadows. "Now, Isabelle. It's time you begin divulging all the lovely little secrets that you've got locked up in that beautiful little head of yours."

"Where to begin?"

"The beginning I should think." Cutler smiled as Mr. Mercer approached with a snifter of brandy.

"Everyone thought I was horridly dressed. If your aim was to embarrass me it succeeded."

"Very good."

"The people still hate the company. They do not like what this town has become since its arrival."

"That's too bad. They'll change their minds though…or move on."

"Yes, that's what many of them are planning." Isabelle continued. "Many of them are unhappy with the appointment of Mr. Norringotn to the position of Admiral. They think he shamed himself in his handling of the _Black Pearl_, Captain Sparrow, and the hurricane of Tripoli."

"That's not my concern."

"They think he's a rum pot and a rogue. He'll have little respect in Port Royal."

"Again, not my concern. He'll mostly be out and about commanding the flag ships, won't he?"

"The governor isn't happy either. He's disappointed that he has been made a puppet of the company and a drunk like James Norrington should be elevated to Admiral." Isabelle hated voicing the opinions of the townspeople. They knew the old James Norrington, the one that had run away to Tortuga to drown himself in countless bottles of rum. They remembered the man who had prefer to flee them after losing many of the best sailors England had to offer to a hurricane in a foolish pursuit of a pirate; a pirate that had escaped his clutches twice and a hurricane that a first year lieutenant would have avoided. But Isabelle had come to know James Norrington. He had hardly touched rum since returning to Port Royal. She thought back to the previous summer when he had come by one afternoon. She had offered him rum or brandy and he had declined, instead asking for tea or lemon water.

"Isabelle?" Isabelle withdrew from her memory of the pleasant summer afternoon and looked up at Cutler. "What else?"

"Someone wished that you were dead." She abruptly stated. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she continued. "They want you dead Cutler."

"Who was it?" He hissed. Mr. Mercer came out of the shadows and stood just beyond the circle of firelight, listening intently, prepared to go out and apprehend the man who would assassinate his employer.

"I don't know, he closed his thoughts to me before I could find out who it was. The room was quite full."

"Someone threatens to assassinate me and you don't know who it was?"

"I'm not perfect Cutler." The back of his hand swung down and caught her across the mouth with lightening speed. She tried not to whimper but a pitiful moan escaped her.

"Leave now Isabelle before I do more harm to you." Cutler finally ground out. His breathing was hard and his voice was strained. "We will continue this discussion tomorrow."

Isabelle practically ran from the room. Her mouth was bleeding, she knew that much. She went directly to her vanity and saw where a small line of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth. The damage was not great, but it was painful. She pushed at her teeth with her tongue to ensure none had been knocked loose and then sat down to look at herself. The dark circles beneath her eyes were more pronounced than ever and she wondered if she'd ever be the care free beauty she'd been in India.

She closed her eyes and thought to the place she considered her home. She remembered the big open house she'd shared with Lord Beckett and his son in her early days and how happy she'd been learning the names of every brightly colored bird and flower in the gardens. She had been ecstatic when Kapil had taught her to use her gift and to block the consciousnesses of others from her mind. She'd been able to live a normal life, to have a child hood. And all Lord Beckett had ever asked of her was to sit in on a few meetings as an equal, perhaps hidden, and to listen to what the men had to say. She had a head for business and knew what was good, what was acceptable and what was not. But Cutler was not like his father. He was concerned with his own vision of what was good business and what was acceptable. No profit lost. That was what was acceptable to him. To hell with anyone who stood in his way. In Isabelle he saw a way to blackmail those who stood against him. She could root out the terrible dark secrets of his enemies—his competitors—the way a pig rooted out truffles, or a dog sought out a bone. He only understood her gift in the basest form and could not fathom the price she paid for each secret she was able to scrounge from the minds of the men of Port Royal. She rested her head against her arms on the vanity and let the tears come. Why had the floods come so soon after the droughts and why had the fever come? Why had Lord Beckett been carried off so suddenly, leaving everything in his possession to Cutler? Why had Cutler ignored the request of his father to care for Isabelle in the best possible way? She knew in her heart of hearts that Cutler's father never would have suffered her being struck or kept a spinster for Cutler's personal gain. She sobbed all the harder and eventually cried herself to sleep. It was here, seated at her mirror, that her maid found her the next morning.

* * *

At breakfast, Cutler commented on the dark circles beneath Isabelle's eyes, but she dismissed his comments as being part of her exhaustion from the night before.

"The ball was tiring and I did not sleep well last night."

"Dear Isabelle, then you should not be up and about! I can not have my favorite sister, and most esteemed colleague taking an ague and being bedridden throughout the beginning of the season. I need you. Go back to your room and sleep the rest of the day."

Cutler's forgiveness was a ruse and Isabelle knew it. He wanted her to feel lulled into a sense of comfort and security. She wasn't fooled. She had come to a conclusion the previous evening; she had to stand up to Cutler, use her head, and beat him at his own game. She wouldn't be able to beat him physically, but she could use her mind against him and find a way out of the dreadful situation she found herself in. She lay back in her bed and let a cool breeze lull her into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

When she awoke, the smell of rain was heavy on the air and she could see that the pale blue sky had changed to a steadily darkening gray. The light curtains at her windows billowed like sails into the room and she sighed as the dampness permeated everything in the room. A bead of sweat slid down the side of her face and she wondered if she wasn't catching an ill vapor. Then it struck her that she was lying in bed fully clothed and it was merely the humidity of the day that was causing her discomfort. She undressed herself and washed quickly with a sponge and the basin of water the maid had left. By the time she felt refreshed, a light rain had soaked everything outside and turned everything beyond her world into a soggy, miserable expanse of dense jungle and mud.

Dinner was quiet and lit only by the large candelabra that sat in the middle of the mahogany table. The sky outside had turned the color of charcoal and the rain had intensified with the setting of the invisible sun. Cutler escorted Isabelle back into the library and sat her in a chair beside the fire. He wanted to pick up right where she'd left off.

"I do hope your nap has left you refreshed that we might continue our discussion of yester eve."

"As you wish."

"I do." Cutler said with a grin. "Tell me, are there any business dealings going on that I should know about?"

"Several actually." Isabelle was hoping he'd forget about the assassination attempt, but knew it would come up sooner or later. She instead outlined in great detail the business dealings that were happening that would most concern Cutler. She told him of the black market traders who would meet the ships of disgruntled captains far to sea to unload goods and take them to free ports. The captains would sail in with half cargoes to be taxed and sold in the Company ports. She told him of the plans to smuggle goods out in crates marked other than what they contained so that they'd be taxed differently, and she told him about the plan of merchants to blockade the port until Cutler lowered the tariffs. "They're hoping you'll buckle under the pressure."

"They don't know me well, do they?"

"Hardly. Their blockade will do the exact opposite of what they truly desire. You'll merely raise taxes to pay for an army, shell their ships until they either sail away or are sunk, and use them as an example to show how large, powerful and strong the company is."

"You read my mind." Cutler's grin was like a snarl.

"It isn't hard to figure out, it's only good business to eliminate those that would stand in your way."

"Indeed, now, tell me who it is that wants me dead?"

"Who doesn't?" Isabelle said shortly. "You've made many enemies and few friends here my Lord."

"That's not helpful."

"I'm sorry I can't be of more use on the front of your assassination. I'm afraid it's difficult to find such information in a room of two hundred people."

"I think you're lying to me."

"Why on earth would I lie to you? What good does your death do me?" Cutler towered over her, just as he had done the night before. She stared up defiantly at him.

He had nothing to say to her immediately. Cutler had to admit, she had a point. If he died, he would be replaced as Lord executor of the East India Trading Company's Caribbean branch. Not by her, but by some Englishman sent from the continent. Possibly even Percival Reynolds, the second son of a second son. He was little threat to Cutler at the moment, but the boy had shown promise in school and had risen through the ranks and now operated within the company as a trade agent. They'd no doubt lay a title upon him and send him to the Caribbean. But what would become of Isabelle? She'd be nothing—an adopted daughter to a dead lord and a spinster. She'd be cast out of the house and have to find her own home. No one would marry her. What would she have to offer?

"Percival Reynolds as your replacement? You really think they'd give him a title?" Cutler turned cold eyes to her and backed away. He faced the fire and watched as the flames danced upon the log. "Regardless, you're right about me. I'm sure they'd give me a small pension on which to live, but otherwise, I'd be forgotten…a faceless memory and the subject of much ball gossip: 'Whatever happened to Isabelle Beckett?' 'Why, I heard she purchased a house in Surrey and stays locked up. Hardly ventures from the house these days.' 'Oh no, I heard she lives in France now.' 'My dears you are so far behind! Isabelle Beckett lies cold and dead in a potters field in Dorchester. Hadn't you heard?'" Isabelle saw the corners of Cutler's mouth twitch. Perhaps she'd diffused his anger by mocking herself.

"What do you think I should do Isabelle?" Cutler turned and she saw that his face was like a marble statue. There was no longer any emotion on his face or in his eyes. She could smell a slight fear clinging to him and she now realized his own mortality frightened him. "Shall I be like the woman you'd become if I were to die? Should I remain shuttered up here?"

"I can't answer that."

"What can you answer!?!?!?" He roared at her. He grasped her arm in a tight grasp and pulled her from the chair. Thunder rumbled in the distance and wind shook the doors that lead out to the walkway. Isabelle wondered what was worse: the storm within, or the storm without. "You did this on purpose. You were at that ball for hours! You could have figured him out!" He flung Isabelle to the carpet and stared down at her as she looked back at him. The fire was to his back and he was outlined by the dancing orange flames. Lightening split the sky outside and cast an eerie blue green light across Cutler's already glacial features. The effect was startling; it made him look insane, like a devil. Cutler did not stop. "Instead you went about with that fool Norrington. Oh yes, I saw the two of you staring at one another. I've seen that look on men's faces before. I've seen it in their eyes when they come to court you, but I soon dissuade them. You're not to leave my side Isabelle." Isabelle stared up at him in shock. Someone had come to court her? But she did not dwell on that thought long. She rose to her feet and stood against him.

"You have no right to do that!"

"Don't tell me what I can and can not do!" He raged. Spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted at her and in Isabelle's mind she saw the fire behind him roar with a life of its own and come towards her, licking at her; waiting to do Cutler's bidding. She took a tentative step back. "Perhaps it is Norrington…perhaps he wishes to take over the shipping and to have you for himself, is that it? Do you pretend to love him Isabelle? Do you think you're infatuated with him?" Another lightening bolt whipped through the sky and the rain pushed against the windows in waves before the room was plunged back into darkness, the only light coming from the fireplace. "Are you plotting my demise Isabelle? Do you think you'll gain freedom that way?" Isabelle wouldn't stand for it anymore, she had to explain. If only she could make Cutler understand…..

"Cutler I—" In the darkness that had enveloped the room Isabelle never saw Cutler swing at her. The back of his hand caught her across the face and she felt skin tear and blood begin to flow, the metallic taste thick on her lip. She opened her eyes and found herself in a heap upon the floor and wondered how she had gotten there. Cutler's boots rang loud and she quickly rolled onto her hip to see his approach. She felt like a wounded animal; hesitant to turn her back to her enemy lest they take advantage of her. Cutler grasped her arm and hauled her to her feet.

"What have I told you about that, hmm?" She turned her face away from him and closed her eyes, wishing the world would go away, or that the maelstrom outside would crash inward and carry her away. "Look at me!" When she did not immediately react, he grasped her jaw roughly in his hand and forced her to look at him. "Your familiarity is loathsome. That someone as low born as you should be able to even think my name is unflattering. My father was a fool to bring you to our home." He pushed her away from him and she crumpled to the floor and into one of the heavy wooden tables covered in books. The table toppled beneath her and the books skittered across the carpet. She lay for a moment amongst the battered table legs and scattered books as she tried to catch her breath. In a flash of lightening she looked down and saw blood dripping onto the back of her hand and onto the open pages of the book beneath her fingers. She tried to take a deep breath, but could barely breathe, the air having been knocked from her when Cutler had thrown her into the table. In a secondary flash of lightening she saw the large doors that lead out to the walkway that led out into the gardens.

_The Gardens? I can lose him there._

Isabelle turned to look over her shoulder and saw Cutler wiping his hand on his kerchief. He must have gotten blood on his fingers when he had touched her face. When he was done he went to the side board and poured himself a snifter of brandy. Slowly, he turned back to see where she was cowering in the debris of their fight.

"I told you once Isabelle, that if you turned against me, I'd do such harm to you as you would never imagine. Did you not think I would do it?" He drank deeply of the brandy and laughed. "I suppose you didn't. Perhaps you're not as gifted as father thought you were. Was everything you did for him an act? Are you an incredible actress to have been pulling the wool over our eyes for so long?" He was coming closer. She saw the brand in her mind again and knew that he was thinking of using it on her. Her mind raced and she looked again to the book beneath her fingertips. It was dappled with the blood that was dripping from her nose and suddenly she had an idea of what to do. Grasping the book she flung it at him with all her might and leapt to her feet. She heard Cutler curse as the book hit him in the chest and he sloshed the brandy against his fine white waist coat. She did not turn to look but ran for the glass doors and flung them open to the storm. She felt Cutler coming after her and with one sideward glance back she saw him stagger at the force of the wind coming through the doors. She did not let it stop her and rushed into the wind and rain and the storm that raged outside, which was far milder than the one that was raging within Cutler Beckett.


	22. What are Friends For?

Isabelle let her instincts take over. She fled the library and rushed into the dark storm that was pummeling Port Royal. One look out over the harbor revealed ships bobbing angrily in the violent sea, masts rocking to the rhythm the storm beat upon their hulls. She did not stop when she heard glass shatter behind her. She assumed it was the remainder of the snifter of brandy and Cutler had hurled it at her in an attempt to stop her. But she was too afraid to stop. She raced into the garden and disappeared down one of the many paths. She tripped and fell into a deep mud puddle that had pooled in the lush grass. She felt the rain saturate her gown and seep into her slippers. She sobbed miserably, full of fear and anger, but she would not stop.

"ISABELLE!!!" Cutler's voice carried over the sound of the storm and she knew he was coming after her. She struggled to regain her feet and ran deeper into the garden. She could get lost down there and Cutler would be none the wiser. _Who knows these gardens better than me?_ She rushed towards the orchards and nearly stumbled again, catching herself on the rock wall that surrounded the fruit trees. She looked down the hill to where a few lights in Port Royal flickered through open shutters. She couldn't go there. Who would help her? Certainly no one would open their doors to a ragged, muddy and soaked woman. Certainly no one would invite her in, especially with how she must look, blood streaming down her face and staining the backs of her hands and the front of her dress where it had dripped off her face. Even if someone would open their door to the likes of her, surely they wouldn't open it to Isabelle Beckett, the sister of the man who was ruining their lives. She walked as fast as she could through the orchard and stood beside one of the pear trees, grasping a low hanging branch in her had to steady herself. What was she to do? She thought momentarily of India and of Kapil. Why was it in only in her darkest hours that she thought of her closest friend; one who had been driven from her by Cutler.

_Friends are a hard commodity and hardly trafficked by the company. _

_I'd hate to think I'd lost your friendship in being gone._

Isabelle's hand flew to her dress pocket where she carried the crown that Mr. Norrington had given her after the initial attack on the head quarters the night he'd escorted her home, the night they'd agreed to be friends.

_What are friends for?_

She would take a chance. Thunder cracked overhead and to Isabelle she had never heard a sound so ferocious. It reminded her of the sound trees made when they were felled or of gun fire. She glanced back over her shoulder and thought she saw torches being borne through the dark garden; Cutler would have turned out Mr. Mercer and a few trusted others to look for Isabelle. She knew Mercer was out there and he was dearly hoping to bring back the girl for his master. Isabelle took off as fast as she could. The crown was now in her fist and she pressed the slowly warming piece of metal into her palm. She dared not look back and made her way down the back garden path and to the gate. She fumbled with the latch and burst into the lane. She knew James Norrington had taken the abandoned manor of one of the aristocrats that had left Port Royal during the winter months and she now made her way up the road. She used the servants' path and slipped and slid along the muddy jungle trail towards the side door of the big house. She saw a few lights still flickering through the shuttered windows and hoped that Mr. Norrington was not only home, but still awake. She did not think his servants would invite her in. She was about to step from the bushes when a large black horse thundered up the drive. She recognized Mr. Mercer's figure as he leapt up the stairs to the front door two at a time and rapped loudly upon it. She saw him say something to the doorman and wait until the Admiral came to the door. She saw Mr. Mercer speak with Admiral Norrington, who nodded. Mercer went back down the stairs as the door was shut behind him. He looked in the hedges beside the front walk and then mounted his horse and rode down the road. Isabelle inhaled sharply, unaware that she had been holding her breath. What had Mercer wanted? Then it came to her. Cutler had probably thought that she would flee to Norrington and had sent Mercer to look for her at the house. Mr. Norrington's house keeper would sooner hang than allow a muddy man into her clean hall and had kept him outside, but if Mr. Mercer had told James Norrington that Isabelle had fled the house or was lost and walking in the storm then James Norrington would turn out himself to search for her. She heard a door slam in the back of the house and just caught a tall shadow of a figure go down the back path towards the stables. Isabelle trudged through the dense undergrowth and waited for a crack of lightening to split the sky to see who the figure was. She sighed in relief when she saw that it was James Norrington. She shivered as the wind howled and she moved as fast as she was able to the dark door of the stable. What would he say? She laughed softly and then stood shivering beneath the eave of the stable roof. In the lantern light in the barn she saw James Norrington carrying tack to a great bay stallion.

"James?" Her voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat and called his name again, this time catching his attention. He turned and nearly dropped his tack. She leaned heavily against the doorway as he stared at her, her vision swam and she thought for a moment that there were two men, two James Norrington's in the barn. Suddenly he was across the barn and had her caught up against him.

"Isabelle? Isabelle, what happened?" He asked as he pushed a piece of wet hair from her face. "Wait, don't answer now…let's just get you up to the house. I'll send Samuel to your brother to tell him I've got you."

"No." She shook her head and grasped James cape in her fist. She saw the blood on the back of her hands, thin and faint looking and mixed with Caribbean mud. _I must look deranged! But he can't tell Cutler, not yet. _"Not Cutler, don't tell him…" She shuddered again and James swept her up in his arms and carried her into his house.

"Mrs. Reynolds! I need blankets and hot water!" He shouted as he came through the back door. He brought Isabelle directly to the front parlor and set her down in front of the fire. The housekeeper came in and saw the admiral kneeling before the most pathetic wraith she'd ever seen. He was in the process of chafing her hands and she set the blankets beside the admiral.

"The water will be just a moment." She said staring at Isabelle.

"Thank you Mrs. Reynolds. See to it that no one disturbs us. No one is to enter this room save you and no one is to leave the house until I say otherwise."

"Of course Admiral." The woman curtsied, but did not look at her master. She stared at Isabelle, whose teeth were chattering loudly in the silence of the parlor. "I'll bring in the tea tray for you. She looks chilled right through."

"And see to it that no one speaks of this." She nodded and shut the door on Isabelle and Norrington.

"I had no where else to go." Isabelle whispered. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be." Norrington tossed his long coat aside and reached for Isabelle's fisted right hand. He began to rub that hand as well, hoping to drive some warmth into it as he had the other. He turned her hand palm up and opened her stiff fingers to reveal the crown still clasped tight in her hand, the relief of the coin pressed into her palm.

"What's this?"

"Don't you remember? _'A crown for your thoughts._'" Isabelle laughed, but there was no joy in it. "It's been a sort of good luck charm for me….until tonight." He looked up at her and watched as she wiped at her face with the back of her left hand.

"What happened?"

Isabelle shook her head and brushed at her face again. "I should go…I shouldn't have come here…" She tried to rise but was restrained by James Norrington.

"You're in no condition to leave and the weather is far too gruesome to be out in. Now tell me what happened." She shook her head and looked away before she took a shuddering breath. She was having second thoughts and the bravado with which she'd gone to James Norrington's house had left her in a great rush.

_Should I tell him? Should I tell him about what I can do? Should I tell him about Cutler?_ _If I do tell him, how much do I reveal?_ Her thoughts raced wildly as she stared at the same spot on the mantelpiece. James took the time to stare at her. Her face was a mess. The skin was a pale, ghostly white, her eyes red with tears and glistening with those still unshed. A small cut sent blood streaming down her face freely. He could see where the blood was smeared where she had tried to wipe her face. He pulled out his handkerchief and reached to wipe some of the blood away. She pulled away from him but he would not be dissuaded. Gently he wiped the slowly drying blood from her face and she shivered.

"I didn't know where else to turn…" She shivered again and James reached down beside the sofa to grasp one of the thick blankets that Mrs. Reynolds had brought in. He threw it about Isabelle's shoulders and tucked it beneath her chin. Mrs. Reynolds knocked again and James went to the door to open it for his housekeeper who carried in a large tea tray. James shut the door behind Mrs. Reynolds when she left and then went to pour tea for both him and Isabelle. Isabelle took the tea gratefully but her hands shook, the sound of the china cup rattling against the saucer joining the sound of crackling logs. She sipped slowly at the tea. It started to spread a slow warmth through her very core but she hissed reluctantly at the heat and the bite of the brew as it touched her lip. She sighed as she looked back at James who now stood leaning against the mantelpiece.

"He was angry with me. I've never seen him so angry." Isabelle said softly. She saw anger boiling in the depths of James Norrington's eyes as he set his cup aside and poured hot water from the tea pot into a shallow bowl that Mrs. Reynolds had put on the tray. He dipped his kerchief into the water before cleaning off the rest of Isabelle's face. As he did so he looked at the swollen bruise beginning to form on her face. The skin of her nose had a cut near her nostril and beneath it was a similar cut upon her lip. At the other corner of her mouth was a fainter bruise, made more visible by the clammy pallor of her skin. She turned her head and hissed as the fabric of his kerchief brushed across her hurts. He held her chin in his hand to keep her from moving and looked again at the place where she had obviously been struck by something.

When he'd come to the door, Mr. Mercer had said she'd gone out on a ride and must have been stuck in the storm. Lord Beckett had been worried when she hadn't returned and had turned the house out in the worst of the storm to search for his sister, fearful that she had been unhorsed and lay injured in the road somewhere. But the more James looked at the bruises and cuts on her face, the more the feeling that something was wrong overwhelmed him. The injuries to her face were deliberate. The bruising looked as if it were taking on the imprint of a heavy signet ring. It didn't take a leap of the imagination to realize that the cuts on her face had been caused by the settings that would hold a large stone to the piece of jewelry. He folded his kerchief and held it to the place on her face where her lip and nose still bled. Her hand came up and touched his as she fumbled to hold the kerchief to her own face. He let his hand linger a moment, the warmth of his hand seeping into her icy cold one. She had lowered her tea cup to her lap and he took it from her and leaned forward to place it back on the tray.

"_He was angry with me. I've never seen him so angry."_

He shook his head and then he let his mind go down the darkest path he could fathom.

"Did Lord Beckett strike you?" She brought her eyes slowly to meet his. "Did he?" He saw the uncertainty in her gaze and though she shook her head the tears in her eyes said otherwise. He watched as one large tear slid across her pale cheek and disappeared into his kerchief. Quickly, he sat on the small couch beside her and pulled her into his protective embrace, tucking her head beneath his chin as she cried out all her frustration. He finally realized she was talking through her sobs.

"He stuck me! He accused me of plotting to assassinate him!" She hiccupped as she pulled away from James and looked up at him, her face soaked with tears anew. "He's mad! He's completely mad!" She held her hand to her mouth and bit down on her knuckle in an attempt to stop her tears and hysterics. "I should not say such things."

"It is good you have said such things! You can not fight him off if you are alone!" He said stroking her shoulder. "As you said, he is mad. You can not fight a mad man on your own."

"I tried. I've tried for so long…" She looked into the fire and sighed deeply. "I had no where else to turn….I didn't mean to burden you with this but…"

"I'm pleased you felt you could come to me." James said. "I wish the circumstances were different." She stared at her hands where she grasped the kerchief and he tucked another errant lock of hair behind her ear. Her nose and mouth were still bleeding, but not as badly as they had been before. He touched her hand where she held the kerchief and made a motion to hold the cloth back to her face.

"How bad is it?" She asked, her voice thick and slightly slurred where she was speaking through the folded fabric.

"Not horribly so. It will stop soon enough."

She barked a short laugh. "Wouldn't that be awkward? How would I explain the need to go to a barber for stitches?" She giggled a bit as she looked at him. "What must your maid think?!"

"Mrs. Reynolds must have wondered which cabbage patch I plucked you from." James said smiling tentatively at her.

"Goodness, I do look a fright don't I?" She looked at the front of her dress which was stained with grass and mud. Her sleeves were also covered in mud and both her hands were stained with blood where she'd wiped at her face on her run through the garden. The dress was ruined, but she really didn't care. She laughed again and then shook her head. "You must think _I'm_ mad."

"I think you're very strong; to have held out as long as you must have. How long has this been going on?"

"What?" She avoided his glance and focused instead on looking at the folded cloth she'd been holding to her face, studying the blood stains as if they were tea leaves.

"The beatings? This can't be a recent development."

"He's never struck me this hard before….never where it would really leave a visible mark…"

"What of this?" He asked touching the opposite corner of her mouth.

"Last night." She answered with a shrug.

"And these?" His warm fingers brushed across the faint bruises he'd seen on her neck the night before at the ball. Isabelle closed her eyes as his fingers ghosted across the skin on her throat, the heat from them licking at her like a summer breeze. Oh, how she wished he'd never remove his fingers. Her very insides seemed to melt like wax and it was all she could do to concentrate on what he was asking.

"That happened last night before the ball." She said softly. She could feel James' anger rising and she turned to face him abruptly. "You mustn't get the wrong idea, he really isn't all that violent."

"Shall I fetch a mirror?" James asked her, his voice was sharp. "You have three bruises upon your face! What happens the next time? What if he strikes you hard enough to break something?" Isabelle thought briefly of the table that had broken beneath her weight this evening but knew that Norrington was talking about Cutler breaking her bones and not furniture.

"This is the first time he's ever struck me this hard."

"He should _never_ strike you." James said grasping her hand. "Don't defend his actions Isabelle, I know he's your brother, but you should not feel guilty and defend a monster like him."

"He _is_ my brother!" She said rising to her feet to stare down at him. "He's my keeper! I can not defy him, nor can I condemn him. He's been under a great deal of stress of late…"

"That's still not an excuse to take it out on you."

"What can I do?"

_Leave him._ The thought raced from James to her and she shook her head slowly.

"I can't leave him. I have no where else to turn." She sighed again and went to the window. The rain was beginning to slacken and the wind had died down.

"Stay here tonight, you can return when the storm has fully abated." James said as he rose to follow her to the window. "You should rest..."

"I can't stay, I can't stay and endanger you."

"I'll tell them I found you on the road and you were weak with fatigue."

"No. They'll suspect I told you what happened." Her voice was flat. "I'll return to the house."

"You don't have to." He said placing a hand upon her shoulder.

"Yes I do." She turned to look up at him and he saw a light in her eyes the like of which he'd seen only a few times before. "I have to fight my battles. I can't run from them forever."

James knew the look on her face, it was one of determination. He had seen it many times on Elizabeth Swann's face.

"You have to learn to pick your fights…"

"I will. But this is one that I have to make a stand on. I can't keep living like this." Her eyes were hard and James sighed. There was no way he was going to be able to stop her, the least he could do was try and protect her. How he wanted to be her champion…. She reached out and grasped his arm. "I won't make it in leaps and bounds, I promise. As you said, I can't fight a war against a mad man on my own. But I can do my best to fight him, if only a little at a time."

"Would you like me to walk with you?" She was brave, there was no way to deny that, but he would still offer his services to her any way he could.

"No." Isabelle said softly as she shook her head and looked back to the kerchief she still held.

"At least take the blanket with you."

"No." She said with more force. "I'd have to explain where I got it. I'll leave it behind." She looked back up at him with a crooked grin. She was trying not to split her lip again. "I've ruined your kerchief I'm afraid. It'll be no use to you. I'll send a new one."

"No need." He said with a smile. He felt as if it were his responsibility to protect her. He desperately wanted her to stay. Something in the back of his mind toyed with the idea of kissing her, she looked beautiful in spite of the bruises and he remembered the night the headquarters had been burned. He'd wanted her then too. How was it they were always surrounded with tragedy? "You're a brave woman, did you know that?"

"Not so very…I'm a scared little church mouse in the big jungle." She looked back out the window and saw lightening flicker in the distance. "It's time this little church mouse went home and stood up to her demons."

"Are you sure you wish to go it alone?" James asked again, hoping against hope that she had changed her mind.

"Yes." She handed him back his kerchief and he pressed the crown back into her hand. She looked back up at him puzzled and he smiled.

"You said it was a sort of good luck charm. Let's hope that you've run all the bad luck out of it and this is all as a bad dream for you."

"I hope so to." She turned and slowly walked from the room. He let her out the back door and watched as she skirted the house and traipsed across the lawn. She raised her arm in a wave when she reached the tree line and then disappeared into the woods like a ghost.

Isabelle had just reached the back garden gate when she heard a horse come up behind her.

"There you are." The Scottish bur was unmistakable and Isabelle shuddered. The rain had started anew and she was soaked again and the last thing she wanted was to be stuck in the storm beside Mr. Mercer. His thoughts were dark enough, she needn't be out in the worst of the weather with him to add fuel to the fire.

"Yes, here I am. What of it?" She asked irritably. "I'm cold, I'm wet and I wish to go back to my home."

"I'll take you." He reached a hand down as if to boost her up behind him.

"No thank you, I'll walk through the back garden. It'll be much quicker." She opened the gate and made to shut it, but Mr. Mercer slipped through. He grasped her arm, as a jailor would grasp a violent inmate and escorted her roughly up the trail.

"Where have you been? Your brother was quite worried." But Isabelle didn't answer. Mercer guided her through the big back door and across the foyer floor. Cutler came out of the library looking irritable. He had a new waist coat on. _Nice to see he cared enough about me to race into the storm without a care for his appearance. Here I am looking like I've been horse dragged and he looks the picture of high society. Shows our differences quite a bit, doesn't it?_

"Isabelle!" Cutler glared at her and she returned the angry stare. "Where did you go?"

But Isabelle didn't answer him either. She shook Mr. Mercer off of her and made for the stairs. "You'll not retire until I say so!"

"I'll retire right now." Isabelle shot back. "I'm cold, I'm tired and dirty, and my face is surely still bleeding." She started up the stairs. "No, thank you, I think I'll retire and clean myself up."

"This is all your fault Isabelle!" Cutler shouted after her. "This is all on you!" Isabelle's shoulder's sagged and then she straightened before she turned back to him.

"If that's how you wish to see it, my lord, then that's how it shall be." She turned her back on him and went to her room where she stripped from her wet clothes and donned the warmest night gown she owned before burrowing deep beneath the covers and fell quickly asleep.


	23. Thieves and Beggars

A week passed by and Isabelle saw less of Cutler. It was as if they had a mutual agreement to avoid one another. Isabelle's face had healed well and though the bruising had been dark for a day or two, frequent icing and a wintergreen salve had drawn the worst of the bruise from her skin and left only the faintest of scars.

Isabelle stood in the parlor and looked at the two horses standing tied by the front door. A month before the drive would have been cluttered with horses. She had not been informed, but she figured Cutler must have bought office space in town and was conducting business from there. One afternoon she was called into the library where an old man sat in a chair. He was mostly toothless, a fisherman by the smell of him. Cutler sat behind his big desk and stared at the man.

"Thank you Isabelle, I was just telling my friend that you enjoy a good story." Cutler's eyes were cold on her and she glanced away from him. "Tell me my friend, what story have you?" Isabelle watched with a furrowed brow as Cutler pushed a tray of cheese and fruit towards the man and poured a generous measure of his best brandy in a glass. The man's eyes lit up and he quickly ate and drank. He belched softly and looked for forgiveness from Cutler and his sister. "Your story, sir." Cutler reminded him.

"Ah, yes milord. I was merely distracted by your generous offering of food. It isn't every day that a man such as myself is treated to such fine foods as was placed before me."

"I understand. But we are very busy people and haven't got all day."

"Right sir. Beggin' yer lordship's pardon." The man turned towards Isabelle. "And the lady's too." Isabelle nodded, but her stomach grew tight, fearful at what news this man might have.

"Tell us now, old man."

"Yes sir, well it be said that you've got the heart o' Davy Jones locked away you do, and that ye be protectin' it."

"Rumor only." Cutler said.

"Well, they say that by controlling the heart, a body can control the very seas. But that be rumors as you say." The man's eyes twinkled knowingly. "But they used to say it was more than that to control the seas. It used to be the goddess Calypso that controlled the seas and the winds, and it was to her the men begged askance for fair skies and winds."

"What happened to Calypso?" Isabelle asked. Cutler was right, she did enjoy a good story and this had the makings of a very good one.

"They say that the Pirate lords, years ago, came together for one purpose alone and captured the goddess. To find the goddess, is to find the key to truly owning the seas they say. The Nine pirate lords were tired of the old gods and the constant begging and scraping. They got rid of Calypso, suppressed her power and sail the seas of their own accord."

"And how would one go about finding this key?" Cutler asked leaning far forward upon his desk.

"I know not sir." The man said. "But that is merely a barroom story told by old drunk sailors."

"What must one do?"

"They say that the court of Pirates are the only ones to be able to free the goddess from her prison. They must be set to convene."

"Interesting." Cutler mused. "And if they don't convene?"

"Calypso will be forever trapped in her prison and the seas will be another's to control. From now until the end of the world."

"Thank you. You shall be rewarded for your honesty." The man was taken away by two marines and Isabelle stood waiting Cutler's questioning. "So, is what he says true?"

"A year ago I never would have believed that we would have a heart locked up in a chest somewhere, but now I know the truth. I have seen Captain Jones' heart with my own eyes."

"That's not what I asked."

"Anything can be true. He certainly believes it."

"Was he hiding anything?"

"No."

"So what do you think we should do?" Isabelle shrugged, but Mr. Mercer stepped forward.

"If I might be so bold, My Lord, I think I might have a strategy."

"Mr. Mercer, if you please…"

"The man said that this pagan goddess has been bound to the earth for all time, and that only the pirate lords can free her." Mr. Mercer turned to Isabelle. "Is that correct, Miss Beckett?"

"Yes."

"If, without the pagan witch, the seas are ours to control, it would be in our best interest to see she stays bound to the earth."

"I had thought the same thing."

"What better way than to eliminate the pirate lords?" Mercer asked with an evil grin.

"But who are they and how would we find them?" Isabelle asked.

"That is a problem indeed." Cutler said. "Was the man hiding anything?"

"It's difficult to say, his thoughts were addled by drink. I sensed there is something more. Some way of calling the pirates….a code that would bring them together."

"Mr. Mercer, I believe it is time to implement our plans." Isabelle shuddered as the vision of a pile of boots stacked as tall as a man spread across her mind. With it came the pungent odor of death. She wanted no part of whatever her brother and Mr. Mercer might have planned and curtsied before turning and leaving the men to talk of darker plans.

* * *

She was not called on again for a week and she passed much of her time in the garden watching the flowers come into bloom.

It was therefore a surprise to her when she received a letter of notice to report to the fort early the next morning.

Isabelle arrived at the fort in the big carriage and stepped out onto the cobbles of the sally port. She opened her parasol and glanced up at where the English flag flapped in the warm morning Caribbean breeze beside the Company flag.

"Miss Beckett?" Isabelle turned to see James Norrington standing behind her.

"Admiral Norrington, good morning." She said smiling slightly at him. It was a formality only, she was not happy to be here and she wished she could melt away.

"It is good to see you, what brings you to the fort this morning?" He asked as he offered her his arm and escorted her into the fort.

"I don't know, Lord Beckett summoned me here."

"He's summoned a lot of people." James said darkly. "I don't know what he's planning."

"Nor do I." Isabelle whispered back. She decided to change the subject. "We're friends, and yet we call each other by such formal titles in public. Why do you think that is?"

"Society demands it I suppose." James said with a grin.

"Is my sister making a joke, Admiral?" James felt Isabelle tense at Cutler's approach but she smiled at him none the less.

"Merely commenting on what it is you might have planned for us today, My Lord. We're quite curious."

"You soon shall see, come along." Isabelle made to follow and felt James gently squeeze her hand as if silently wishing her luck.

She stood at the back of a group of influential business men and traders. James Norrington, Governor Swann and Mr. Mercer were also in attendance. She was the only woman present. She looked uneasily around the group. Something was dreadfully wrong. She felt as if a great black abyss had opened in the pit of her stomach. Fear was ripe on the soft breeze, but it was not coming from the men standing around her. She put a hand to her stomach and tried to take a deep breath. Perhaps her stays were too tight.

"Are you well, Miss Beckett? You look a little pale…" Governor Swann whispered at seeing the stricken look on the woman's face.

"I'll be fine, my stomach is arguing with me. Perhaps I did not have enough for breakfast." She said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"It is good to see a woman with a healthy appetite. Too many of our English stock take pride in being rail thin. My Elizabeth used to have a healthy appetite." The soft smile that had touched the governor's eyes disappeared and he sighed. "I hope she eats well still…I worry about her so."

"I'm sure she's…" Isabelle was interrupted by Cutler who finally went to the front of the group.

"Gentlemen! I'm so glad you could join me this fine morning!" Cutler said as he strolled to the front of a large curtain that was obscuring the view down into the courtyard. "I know you are all aware of our troubles last summer with the rabble of Port Royal." Several of the men harrumphed loudly. Isabelle knew that they were still waiting for their insurance to repay for the losses they had sustained when their goods had been burned. "I know it's taken some time, but we will finally be addressing those issues."

"How? Your own sister could not identify the guilty parties and she was in the thick of it." A large man asked petulantly as he glared at Isabelle. He believed she was protecting those guilty of damaging his finances.

"There was not just one guilty man." Cutler said. "We rounded up many of the militants that first evening and have been holding them prisoner for some time."

"When was their trial?" Governor Swann asked.

"There was a court convened at Nassau to address the issue. It was not necessary to bring all the prisoners to trial." Cutler answered with a satisfied grin. "In fact, there are some new rules which will be implemented as of today. I wanted you to be present for this auspicious occasion that you might be the first to help spread the word."

Cutler pulled on a heavy cord and the curtain fell to the brick battlements to reveal the courtyard below. Near the center stood a large gallows, and beyond it stretched a line of filthy prisoners. Isabelle gasped and Governor Swann moved to protest but was stopped by the sound of a snare drum echoing across the parade ground. The hangman walked up the scaffold and then signaled to the marines on the ground to escort the first of the prisoners up onto the platform. Seven men were brought forward, all of them looking ragged and dirty. Long beards covered their faces and their hands were bound in front of them. Their clothes were riddled with holes and only half had shoes upon their feet. Many of them looked half starved.

"Gentlemen, I give you your justice." Isabelle could tell Cutler was pleased. She looked to the others in the group and saw that many of them seemed confused as to exactly what was transpiring. A uniformed company marine stepped forward and unfurled a parchment from which he read, his rich voice echoing to the prisoners below in the courtyard.

"In order to affect a timely halt to deteriorating conditions and to ensure the common good, a state of emergency is declared for these territories. By decree of lord Cutler Beckett--duly appointed representative of his majesty the king. By decree, according to martial law, the following statutes are temporarily amended: Right to assembly—suspended. Right to habeas corpus suspended, right to legal council suspended, right to verdict by a jury of peers, suspended. By decree, all persons found guilty of piracy, or aiding a person convicted of piracy or associating with a person convicted of piracy, shall be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead."

Fear wafted up from the courtyard as the men ascended the gallows. Many looked stalwartly forward, others shivered as the nooses were lowered and tightened around their necks.

"Lord Beckett, this is not legal! It can not be!"

"What they did was not legal, Governor Swann!" Cutler called back. "I was given special and express dispensation by his majesty the king to take these orders on. So yes, it is legal."

"How did the king discover our plight? Our insurers did not go to him, surely!" Another man asked.

"No, actually, that was the mission Admiral Norrington went on, was it not, Admiral?"

James Norrington stood looking down at the courtyard and ignored Lord Beckett. He watched with hard eyes as the hangman clomped back to his post and grasped a lever. Isabelle gasped when the snare drum came to an abrupt halt and the hangman pulled the lever. The floor dropped out from beneath the men on the platform and several of them kicked violently, as if dancing a jig in midair. Isabelle had heard the phrase "dancing the hempen jig" before, but never had she seen the act to which the phrase was directed. No one moved on the battlements. No one dared to speak. All watched in horrified fascination as more Company marines stepped forward and released the nooses from the necks of the dead men who clattered to the cobbles like broken marionettes. The bodies were dragged several feet away where their boots or shoes were removed, if they had any, and tossed aside. The bodies were then thrown into a hand cart and taken beneath the battlements and out of sight. Isabelle saw the shock register on the Admiral's face as he saw the long line of former citizens stretching beyond the gallows. The floor was already reset and the next few prisoners were brought forward. Isabelle leaned over the parapet to stare at one of the men. It was the fisherman from the parlor, the one who had told the story of the goddess Calypso.

"My Lord! You can not hang that man!" Isabelle said turning to face Cutler. Several heads snapped in her direction and the thought that was on everyone's mind was centered on why Isabelle Beckett should witness these events. Hangings were a public gathering, to be sure, but this was not your average hanging.

"Your heart bleeds for one of these ruffians, Isabelle?" Cutler asked with a smile.

"That man…the third one from the left….he…" Isabelle never finished the sentence as the sound of the floor dropping out from under him sufficiently snuffed out his life. Isabelle shuddered and she felt James Norrington move closer.

"_You see Isabelle, my dear, I don't care what good someone might be, everyone is expendable. When something has outlived it's usefulness, it ought to be retired." _Isabelle kept her eyes locked on Cutler's as his thought bore into her brain like an auger. _"You too can be retired Isabelle, and not to a secluded life in Surrey." _His eyes danced over her shoulder and she turned again to the gallows to see that not only were there men now ascending the steps, but a woman as well.

* * *

Isabelle squinted up into the sun. Her heart ached and her head swam. _Four days._ One day a week for a month. For four days, the endless tide of hangings had continued and for four days Isabelle was forced to watch them. Each day, the dirty prisoners had been brought off of ships and up to the fort, which had been auctioned off by the King. The East India Trading Company now owned the property. Many of the soldiers had been given the opportunity to switch commissions and most had accepted. In addition to the money they received as wages, they were also given stocks in the company. Now they were share holders in one of the greatest organizations in the world.

"We'll be rich men now." A pale, skinny man with red hair said to his comrade. Isabelle watched as the two men crossed the courtyard.

"Were we not rich men before? Or is it just because we're shareholders now?" The darker one answered. Had the situation been different, or the conversation, Isabelle might have smiled. The thin one was the eternal optimist; a glass half full sort of fellow. His comrade was a negative nancy through and through.

"Well, we're property owners now. Not just mere soldiers."

"And if we can be elevated from lowly soldiers up to shareholders, can we not be matched up with those poor blighters yonder?" Isabelle looked to where the man had gestured. The line was long, the people dirty, and Isabelle sighed at their plight. Many were resigned to it. It was better to die than to live in the squalor of a prison. As Isabelle watched she got a sense of Deja Vu. It took but a moment to think back almost twelve years to when Kapil had sat incarcerated in a jail, an innocent man. He had foreseen this. _How many of them are innocents?_ Six people marched up to the gallows, the sound of chains rattled against the cobbles in a steady rhythm as the line moved forward. Isabelle watched as the Hangman roughly slipped the noose around a young woman's throat. The girl shuddered, and Isabelle shared the feeling. A lieutenant stepped forward and read the order of suspension. Isabelle had heard it more than twenty times, had seen the words printed upon parchment and posted throughout Port Royal. She mouthed the words and moved into the shadows. An overlook afforded her fresh air and a view of the deceptively calm sea. She heard the click of a boot heel ring against the stones of the fort and without turning she knew it was Admiral Norrington.

"Miss Beckett? Are you well?" He asked coming to stand beside her.

"The events within the walls of this proud fortress are less than tasteful." Isabelle said pulling her shawl around her shoulders. Her golden hair whipped around her face and she had to tuck the loose strands behind her ear. "I needed some air."

"Why does he want you here? You should not have to witness this." _No one should._

"He wants me to see the extent of his power." Isabelle answered. "He wants me to be fearful and remember my place."

"Your place?" The Admiral practically spat. "What, pray tell is that?"

"Lower than him." She answered. "You remember a secret I once told you. Lord Beckett does not want me to forget my less than humble origins. He wants me to forever remember from whence I came and to which I can be returned." Isabelle inhaled sharply and grasped her side. She felt as if her stays might be too tight, the stiff boning pinching her skin.

"Isabelle?"

"It's nothing." She shook her head. "A spasm of some…" She gasped again and the cramp hit her so hard she clutched at the archway of rocks. She closed her eyes and in the blackness sensed something momentous was happening. When she opened her eyes she felt James' warm hands upon her back and covering her hand where she still grasped her side, a gentle force drawing her away from the ledge. She turned to look at him, but could not utter a sound. Instead she pulled from him and raced to the inner arches where she might better see the courtyard.

Upon the gallows now stood five men, a woman, and a young boy. Isabelle's breath caught at the sight of the lad. He could not have been more than twelve years old. Softly, born on the early spring wind, the soft strains of a song were brought to Isabelle's ears.

_The King and his men_

_Stole the queen from her bed_

_And bound her in her bones_

The hangman paced behind the line of prisoners and leaned over the rope supports to where one of the marines handed up a small powder barrel. The hangman clomped slowly back and placed the barrel behind the young boy before lifting the lad up onto it._ The seas be ours and by the powers_

_Where we will, we'll roam._

Isabelle saw clearly a long dark wood table and faceless individuals around it having a heated discussion. Then, from out of the very air, a woman, dark skinned and mysterious was created. It was a woman Isabelle had seen in her dreams, but had thought of merely as a figment of her imagination. Now she stood before her again, her dark eyes glaring daggers into the individuals who had imprisoned her. The old man's story suddenly made sense.

"_Yo Ho, all Hands, Hoist the Colours High."_ sang the man on the end. He had been reluctant to take up the tune, but it was as if the boy's song had pulled the words from him.

"_Heave ho, Thieves and Beggars, never shall we die._" The other prisoners standing upon the gallows took up the song as well.

"_Yo Ho! Haul together! Hoist the Colours high! Heave ho! Thieves and Beggars!"_ The whole of the prisoners began to sing, rattling their chains and stomping their feet in rhythm to their call. The marines, slightly taken aback by this new activity of the prisoners, stood back and lowered their bayonets, prepared for the prisoners to make an escape, believing the song to be one concocted on the prison ships to be sung as a signal for revolt.

Isabelle saw one of the officers make a dash from the corner of the gallows towards the alcove where Cutler had set up his personal office. Isabelle moved as well, racing across the courtyard.

_He knew about the song. He knew this was the signal that would call the Brethren Court together!_

"_Never shall we die!"_ Isabelle saw the motion out of the corner of her eye. The snare drum rattled to a halt and the sound of the barrel bouncing off the cobbles echoed in the courtyard. A glint of silver pierced her vision and Isabelle fell to the ground.


	24. Fever Pitch

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who's been reading this story. I really appreciate the great reviews you've all sent me. They make me (and my mailbox) very happy. I'm going to appologize in advance for the length of this chapter, but once you get through it I think you'll understand why it had to be so long. Please make my mailbox happy and send me your comments and reviews!_

* * *

James Norrington was at her side in an instant. He had been forced to watch as she'd gone down like a sack of bricks. He'd seen women faint before, usually landing on their backs or sides; Isabelle had gone down face first in a heap. He rolled her over gently and pulled her across his thigh, cradling her neck against his other knee. He was prepared to see blood, to find that she'd broken her nose in the fall, but thankfully, other than being completely unconscious, she seemed fine. Her skin was pale and cool to the touch, and her breaths seemed to be thin and shallow. _What sort of fit has seized her now?_ Several other soldiers gathered around the spot where he knelt with Isabelle and stared. They'd noticed the woman hovering about the courtyard and had wondered at it. Though hangings were often a public entertainment, these proceedings were unlike anything that had come before and were certainly no place for a woman.

"The boy must have been the last straw." One of the gathered soldiers murmured. James looked up and saw someone tossing the small body onto the cart followed by the larger corpses of his adult counterparts. The Admiral had not even noticed the young boy upon the gallows. What sort of monster was Cutler Beckett to hang a young lad? A shadow fell over them and James looked up into the cold eyes of that very man.

"What has happened here?" Cutler snapped.

"Your sister, my lord…she's fainted." James said for lack of a better term. Isabelle could be dead for all he knew, but one look at her eyelids told him that was not so. Her eyes raced beneath her closed lids as if she were seeing too much.

* * *

Isabelle was taken home immediately and the best doctor in Port Royal fetched. She lay in her bed, her skin practically green, veins showing deep blue beneath the marble like skin. The physician placed leeches on her arms when a fever set in. He said it was all he could do.

She'd been in the grips of the fever for two days when her maid realized that Isabelle was muttering beneath her shallow breath.

_Some have died and some are alive_

_Others sail on the sea_

_With the keys to the cage and the devil to pay_

_We lay the fiddler's green._

"What does that mean?" Cutler snapped when he sat beside Isabelle a few moments later. Isabelle muttered the verse over and over, chanting it like a mantra. "What is that?"

"It sounds like a song sir." The maid answered softly. The next day, there was more.

_The bell has been raised from its watery grave_

_Can you hear its sepulchral tone?_

_A call to all_

_Pay heed the squall_

_Turn your sails to home_

Now Cutler was sure she was singing. But why? And what did the little ditty mean?

* * *

_Sri Sumbhajee, in his elaborate Indian silks, his high turban, and his waxed mustachios, felt comforting. In her dream, she thought she could even smell the saffron, the heady aroma of curry and jasmine made her head spin and she felt giddy. Below decks of his elaborately painted ship incense smoke curled upwards and gathered in the dark spaces of the Pirate Captain's cabin. When he set foot on to other ships, his countrymen knelt before him begging blessings and forgiveness. He might have been a ruthless pirate to outsiders, but to his own kind he was quite kind, merciful and was a spreader of their holy teachings. He never spoke; he had an assistant for that, his dark eyes conveying much emotion. He was always attentive to those coming for his guidance. Isabelle saw Sri Sumbhajee staring across gray waters, the wind tugging playfully at his beard. The blue silk standard snapped in the air above him and he looked up at it curiously in the pale morning light. She stood transfixed on the deck opposite him and watched as he took a snuff box from his sleeve and stare at it before returning it to the hidden place. He moved up the decks looking for his assistant that he might issue orders for a change of course. Something great was happening, though Isabelle could not fathom what it was._

The fourth day of her fever she tossed her head violently against the pillows. This day through the inane babble and the subsequent moaning, a name was discerned.

"Who is Sri Sumbhajee?" The doctor asked Lord Beckett.

"He was a pirate in India. She must be dreaming of our childhood home."

* * *

_Sri Sumbhjee's image had been thrust aside and she'd been forced to watch a dark eyed, swarthy man with long yellow teeth lay siege to a convent. She stood helplessly by as the pirates stormed the small, drab structure and entered the sanctuary. They did not care that the place was holy or sanctified. The nuns cowered beside the altar, hands clasped in prayer, their eyes locked on the image of their crucified savior. The priests who helped run the convent held up their arms, murmuring their prayers trying to protect the sisters, but the pirates didn't care for the holy men and cut them down as they would any other. The shrieks of the terrified nuns echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the simple chapel and the pirates laughed heartily at the fear inspired in the poor sisters. One of the women, older and calmer than the others, stood and challenged the pirates. She was laughed at and hauled away from the others. Isabelle didn't want to know what happened to the abbess. She watched as one of the men strolled around the altar and picked up a small pewter goblet. He smiled as the light glinted off of it and tucked it into a pouch on his hip. Angry yelling reverberated off the stone walls as one of the other pirates challenged him. Isabelle didn't understand everything that was said, but understood that the man was angry his captain had hidden the goods, believing he was denying the crew a rightful share of the treasure. Without a word, the captain leveled a pistol at the arguing crewman and blew a hole in his chest, spattering gore across the religious relics within the tiny chapel. She saw time pass by. The sisters' robes became threadbare and faded, and they still cowered beside the altar, but the small nooks and crannies of the convent now shone with gold, silver and jewels. Rich silks were hung from every buttress and window sill and stacked in piles upon every pew in the chapel. She saw entire rooms strung with fragrant spices. The dark eyed man smiled as the Abbess approached him in the courtyard. She allowed him to keep his looted goods within the walls of the convent in exchange for his protection from marauding bands of heathen natives that roamed the inlands. She had been excommunicated by the pope, as had her sisters for what had happened at the convent years before. They knew that she was no longer a pure soul and yet maintained her station as abbess. She didn't care. She and her sisters could worship as they always had in the protection and sanctity of their convent, safer than they ever had been simply because Armand's men patrolled the area and kept others at bay. She knew that God would forgive whatever sins she may have committed, even if one of them was allowing earthly goods to be stored in their simple, holy place. Isabelle strained to hear what Armand said to the abbess but knew the man was agitated. He sighed heavily and turned on the heel of one of his ornate shoes calling to his men to leave the walls of the abbey. It was time to sail on.

* * *

_

Mr. Mercer and Admiral Norrington were discussing crew manifests, rosters and duty schedules with Lord Beckett when the Doctor entered the room.

"Who is Armantha?"

"Armantha?" Lord Beckett asked with disgust at being interrupted. "I know no Armantha. Where did you hear such a name?"

"Perhaps it is Amanda?" James ventured. But the Doctor shook his head and continued to stare at Lord Beckett.

"Your sister, my lord." The doctor said softly. "She's been uttering the name repeatedly; Armantha Corser."

"Armand the Corsair!" Mr. Mercer whispered. "He's a fearsome blaggard from the Black Sea. Prayed on Christian ships he did."

"How would Isabelle know his name?" Cutler asked. "That's the second pirate in as many days…."

"I don't know my lord." The Doctor said shrugging. "Who knows what happens in a woman's mind?"

* * *

Every day Isabelle thrashed violently, her brow beaded with sweat, her breathing labored. She grasped the sheets of her bed and whimpered at whatever her fevered dreams revealed to her. Isabelle was never aware of such actions; such was the deepness of her slumber and the magnitude of her terror. It was all Lord Beckett could do to keep a maid with her at all times. The women were so terrified of Isabelle's fits that he had two house servants quit.

"She's possessed, my lord!" The one girl had insisted, tears running down her cheeks. "Lady Beckett was always very kind to me, but I can not stay. God has cursed her."

"Firstly, Miss Isabelle is _not _and shall never be Lady Beckett." Cutler said sharply to the girl. "And second, what on earth would make you think she was cursed by God? Isabelle is a terribly devout soul."

"Her eyes my lord! I saw her eyes and they were silver!" The girl said crossing herself. "It is a sign of the devil, I know it!" She raced from the room without getting a reference or her last week's pay.

Some days Isabelle would utter just one name, but on a few occasions she call out more than one.

* * *

_The man she saw with the long curly wig and the pale face seemed like a fop to her, but he was a ferocious pirate, firing on all ships flying Spanish or English colors. He was ruthless to prisoners, but a good host and fond of strong wines and poker. He favored hands with queens for she saw queens constantly when she saw him. He surrounded himself by others of similar tastes; a pallet for wines, an eye for fine things, and the stomach to kill without question or mercy. He was waxing the tips of his thin mustache when another heavily wigged man entered and whispered something in rapid French. The captain, for Isabelle was sure that that was who the first man was, turned, his eyes boring into his crewman. "Certainement?" the crewman nodded nervously and stepped back as the captain slammed his hand onto the desk in front of him. He issued orders in rapid French that Isabelle could not understand and stared out the large windows at the rear of his cabin. _

_Hot on his heels came the image of a short, round man in a big hat. He was armed to the teeth and stood calmly amongst the carnage of battle. The smell of gun smoke clung to him like a cologne and his face was smeared with spent powder. The fight was over, and many Frenchmen lay dead. The dandies beneath his feet had fought well, considering. He pulled the fine lace of his cuffs from his sleeves and polished the ornate buckle of his baldric. He rattled off orders in Spanish, or perhaps Portuguese. Isabelle had never been very good with languages and didn't understand a word the man said. She saw the man's home life flash before her eyes and saw that he was devoted to his family and doted on his young daughters. Something that was deeply at odds with the ruthless nature with which he treated with his enemies. She saw the long haired man and the short man go toe to toe, cannons roaring around them and shaking the ships beneath their feet. The Spaniard often fingered the necks of rum bottles, eyeing those that questioned him with slit eyes and an edge towards anger.

* * *

_

"_Captain Chevalle"_ She muttered one morning.

"_Villanueva" _She mumbled in the afternoon.

"Those two could barely keep away from each other. Thank goodness they had such deep hatred for one another, if they ever banded together, English shipping would suffer greatly." Admiral Norrington supplied at hearing the names mentioned in the library. "Frightful men, blood thirsty pirates both, they claim to be privateers in the employee of their mother countries."

"Bloody Pirates!" Cutler muttered.

* * *

_There were times when Isabelle's dreams were blissfully dark, and silent. She relished these times and tried to build her strength up for the next wave of visions that she knew would come. She had no idea how long she remained in the dark. She had no idea of the frantic actions around her._

_The white faced woman that appeared to her was the thing that Isabelle's childhood nightmares were made of. Isabelle could hear a shrill voice and hated the way the woman's small eyes squinted into her very soul. The woman's yellow teeth were barred in a snarl as she ordered a man to be put to death for spying. He was strapped to the deck and gutted like a fish. Isabelle turned her head away. She could smell the stink of blood and burning flesh as they burned the man's intestines in an open brazier on the deck of the junk. The woman puffed on a long, thin stemmed pipe and watched the whole proceeding. Glancing around at the sailors that sailed her ships, she made sure none were watching too closely and pulled a set of spectacles from her oriental silk robe. They perched precariously upon her nose as she watched her crew complete the torture of the spy. She glanced out over the rest of her fleet and saw a flag raised on the furthest one to sea. She had ordered the flag made special; its meaning meant that what they dreaded had come to pass. She barked out swift orders in the quick staccato of her native tongue and swept into her cabin._

_After the white faced woman, the next man seemed benevolent. Though he had stringy hair and a pox marked face, he seemed jovial. Somewhat like Jack. His eyes, yellowed from years of drink and of staring over sun streaked waters had lines in the corners from laughter, maniacal laughter though it might have been. His eyes were those of a hawk, trained on his prey and unwilling to let it move from his sight. He bit into an apple and stared at a tall skinny man who didn't look all that intelligent. They were all working diligently on the deck of a merchant ship. Isabelle saw several others that seemed familiar to her, including Mr. Gibbs, Jack's old first mate. She did not scan around the deck for anyone else…they'd all be far safer if she kept her head down and ignored the remainder of the crew…

* * *

_

The names of Mistress Ching and Hector Barbossa followed those of Chevalle and Villanueva. James Norrington knew of Hector Barbossa, had heard of his death from Elizabeth after the debacle on the Isle de Muerta. In her fevered state, he was sure Isabelle's imagination was running wild, centering on the fearsome tales of the pirates of the age. How she'd heard of them all, when her brother, Mercer and himself, a well traveled navy man hadn't was beyond him. His thoughts were further muddled after a particularly frightful night when Isabelle cried out the name Jocard.

* * *

_Isabelle walked through a tobacco plantation. The broad leaves rustled beneath her fingertips. She saw slaves working the fields, pulling bugs from under the broad leaves and weeds from around the stalks. She saw an overseer raise his arm in anger but the man he was about to strike turned and grasped his wrist. He pulled the whip from the overseers hand and beat him savagely with his own quirt. Isabelle watched the large dark skinned man's eyes change and he made strolled towards the large plantation home. He walked proudly and with a purpose. Isabelle had seen slaves the world over who shuffled when they walked and kept their eyes trained on the pebbles beneath their feet. Not this man; he knew he had royalty in his blood, carried across the ocean on a slaver. He would not be beaten, he would not be put down. It was time to free his people from the oppression of the Louisiana Plantation. Isabelle watched, horror stricken as the slave tied a white man to a chair in the parlor and laughed menacingly. Isabelle realized the white man was a slave owner and an evil man, but his actions could not have justified what she next saw. The wife and children of the slave owner cowered in the corner of the parlor, unable to leave as, the slave cut off the white man's fingers with a tobacco cutter. When all ten digits were gone and oozing blood onto the floor and fine horsehair coverings the large man peeled the boots from his master's feet and started on the man's toes. The man's wife screamed and begged the slave to stop. He struck her and Isabelle flinched. She knew only too well what it felt like to be struck down by someone with the upper hand. The slave turned back and in one move removed the tip of the slave owners nose from his face. Isabelle wanted to rush away, but could not run from the room. The last thing the slave did was cut out the man's tongue. He left him, bleeding in his own parlor…but quite alive, the tobacco cutter still in his hand.

* * *

_

No one had ever heard of Jocard and it took a merchant from the Americas to tell them that he was a well known pirate, harbored on the bayous of the Creole colony of Louisiana. Her maid ran screaming from the room when the fit was done and sobbed in the arms of one of the grooms. Isabelle had gone so still that the poor girl had thought Isabelle dead.

* * *

_Isabelle relished the dark that over took her after such a vision. Something in her mind told her that she was almost done. She only hoped she forgot everything she had witnessed; or that she died at its end. She did not think she could live with the crimes of the pirates in her mind.

* * *

_

A day or so later, Isabelle went from having the pallor of the dead, to sweating profusely. James Norrington was standing in the foyer when one of the nurse maids went by carrying a bundle of sheets.

"It's as if she's in a steam room! She's hot all over and putting off so much sweat! I've never known a woman to sweat so."

* * *

_Slowly, as if walking through a river mist, Isabelle emerged into an open room. She saw a man whose head and face were scarred and his long nails often brushed over the raised flesh of the wounds. A long red sash hung from his wrist and he brought his cuff to his face, inhaling something fragrant. Isabelle thought she caught the scent of oranges. The man turned cold eyes on her and she felt her heart stop. He was quiet in his fierceness, but it was no less sharp than any of the others she had seen. In fact, it might be worse. He was unforgiving and would as soon lash out and kill a man than see him imprisoned and tortured. He disappeared in the same shroud of mist he had appeared in.

* * *

_

When Isabelle whispered the name Sao Feng, Cutler had had enough.

"We don't know any of these pirates, except by reputation alone." He snapped. "But we do know Sao Feng, if only because he prays on our ships in the orient. The Dutch have had a fair number of run-ins with him. Sources say that he's somewhat retired now, running his ships from a bath house in Singapore." He turned to face Mr. Mercer who stood in the dim Library staring stonily at a place on the mantle. "I want you to go to Singapore and find him. I have the distinct notion Isabelle has been naming off those that can do us the most harm…those that, should this bed time story be true, can release Calypso. We can't allow that to happen. Go to Singapore and stop Sao Feng." Mr. Mercer left with the tide the following morning.

Isabelle's slumber grew calmer, though the fever still gripped her. She'd been asleep for over a week and James Norrington had finally been granted the opportunity to sit at her bedside. Her maid was exhausted and the doctor had cleared Isabelle, coming to the conclusion that it was not Yellow or Scarlet fever that she had contracted.

James sat at her bedside and tentatively took up her hand in his. It was deathly cold and he remembered back to the previous summer when they had been stranded at sea in a small boat. Her hands had been deathly cold then too, but she had survived. What was this ailment that had befallen her? She took a deep breath suddenly and exhaled a name that Admiral Norrington had dearly hoped would never be heard again.

* * *

_Isabelle next saw the flattest, bleakest plain she'd ever seen. Heat shimmered off the cracked, white sand that stretched as far as the eye could see. Above her stretched the massive hull of a ship. The lines were beautiful and Isabelle ran her hands along the wood lovingly. As she walked forward along the starboard side of the vessel she looked up at the bowsprit to see the figurehead. Carved with care and an eye to detail, the beautiful English pine had been battered away by time, the elements and countless battles. But Isabelle stood, rooted to her spot staring at the carving as if the bird in the woman's hand might come to life and swoop down to peck her eyes out._

_It was the _Black Pearl_. But, only a few months before, she had seen the death of this beautiful ship in a vision that had been as clear as this one. She had seen it battered into cordwood and pulled to the bottom of the sea. What trick of her mind was this? A rope was coiled beside the boat and Isabelle climbed up, using all the strength she had in her body. When she stood on deck, she felt the presence of many but saw no one. She walked along the faded rails and looked into the empty cargo hatches. The rigging was excellently maintained, the sails reefed perfectly. _

"_What are you doing here?" Isabelle stopped short and looked up to the helm. There, before her eyes stood Jack Sparrow. She whispered his name and saw an exasperated expression grip the corners of his mouth._

"_Captain! How many times must I tell you people?"_

"_Jack I thought you were dead!" Isabelle grasped her skirts and ran up to the wheel. Jack took another look at her as she stopped and stared at him curiously. "Wait…you can see me?"_

"_Can I see you? Of course I can see you!" Jack turned over his left shoulder as if he were speaking to a subordinate. " Mr. Sparrow, is there not a young woman standing to the starboard side of the helm here?" Jack's dark eyes came back and raked her over. "Yes, well…I suppose I have been gone for some time. Surrounded as I am by you ugly lot, I should think that eventually I might be delivered."_

"_Jack what's going on?"_

"_I haven't the foggiest. Have you?" His eyes swung quickly back to the deck and he stalked down deck issuing orders to unseen individuals…all mysteriously named Mr. Sparrow._

_Jack ignored Isabelle and she eventually sat down upon a pile of rope to wait for his return. The sun never seemed to waiver from the zenith and soon its warmth seeped into her very core. She leaned back. Perhaps this was heaven. She was warm, and it was quiet, except for when Jack shouted unintelligible orders or discharged his pistol into the air. She eased back against the wood of the ship's rail and turned her face up to the warm rays beating down on her.

* * *

_

Isabelle opened her eyes slowly. Her throat felt like sandpaper, and her tongue felt swollen and thick in her mouth. She tried to swallow, testing the motion but coughed at the effort. She felt pressure on her hand and slowly turned her head.

"Isabelle?" She blinked a few times to clear her eyes as she saw James Norrington looking down at her. Suddenly everything washed back over her and she tried to sit up.

"The boy! What happened….?" She lay back heavily against the pillows and coughed violently, the pain tearing through her body. James raced to the foot of the bed and poured a glass of water before coming back to her bedside. He perched on the quilt and slowly raised her into a sitting position before bringing the glass to her lips and letting her drink.

"Slowly now…slowly!" He admonished, pulling the glass from her. "You'll drown if you don't take it a bit slower. Small sips now…" He coaxed her into taking a few small sips and then lowered her back to the pillows after she had emptied the glass. Her eyes were still red rimmed with fever and her skin pale, but her eyes were bright and she stared at him for a time.

"What happened?" She finally asked. She knew what had happened in her own mind, but wondered what had happened while she'd been dreaming. James shrugged his shoulders. "Tell me." Her eyes were unnerving and the stalwart Admiral felt the need to avert his eyes. She tried to rise again but he gently pressed a hand to her shoulder.

"The boy was hung. Shortly after…well, you fainted." Isabelle saw the scene play out as James had, the sound of the trap door dropping from beneath the prisoners was loud in her ears and she saw herself fall to the rough cobbles of the fortress. "You were brought back here. You would not rouse."

"What then?" Isabelle and James were both distracted as the door opened and the little nursemaid came in.

"Miss? Oh! Miss, you're a wake!" The maid came in suddenly and knelt at Isabelle's side, her face looked drawn, as if the girl had not slept well for some time.

"Anna, you look ill yourself. Have you not been taking care, girl?"

"Ma'am I've been sleeping at your bedside throughout your illness. Admiral Norrington gave me a few hours to beg off and have a lie down. I heard his boots on the floor and came running thinking something was amiss."

"Tell me, how long have I been ill?"

"Nearly two weeks, miss." The maid whispered. Isabelle's eyes darted around the room as if searching for some sort of confirmation of the time.

"Two weeks?" She whispered. "That can not be…."

"It's true ma'am. You were having frightful fits. Everyone thought you would…."

No one dared to finish the girl's thought. Isabelle had been so close to death, now her clear, open eyes reflected emerald in the dim light. She was whole again. There was hope to be had if she was now aware of her surroundings.

"I will take leave of you, Miss Beckett." James said rising. "You must get your strength back. I'll inform your brother of your recovery." He left the room quickly, preventing her from asking any further questions.


	25. Recovery

Cutler visited her later that evening and it was from him that she discovered that she had muttered the names of several pirates, some well known, others less so. Dwelling on her dreams made her head ache and her stomach growled loudly for want of food. She lay weakly in the bed as Cutler interrogated her. There was nothing she could do. Her mind seemed to dwell longest on the images of the pirate she knew to be Jocard. She shivered at the memory of the torture of the slave owner. Cutler watched as the spasm wracked her body and he grinned. He liked her weak and scared, thanks to the dark dreams that had plagued her for two weeks, she was now exactly where he wanted her.

The Doctor arrived the next day and told her that her recovery might be long.

"You're underweight…you're susceptible to all manner of things right now. We managed to get water into you, but not enough. Your muscles have atrophied. It will be some time before you feel yourself."

But Isabelle would have none of it. She ate heartily, leaving nothing left on the plates sent to her and she drank so much water that she thought she might drown. But it was what her body craved. By the end of the first week, Isabelle was able to sit up on her own and a few days later her maid dropped a china pitcher at seeing Isabelle standing precariously on weak legs beside the foot of her bed. She was recovering faster than anyone had anticipated, many thought faster than was safe.

* * *

Isabelle sat in the sun and let a slow smile spread across her lips. _I must look like the cat that just got into the cream._ She thought. Initially no one had wanted her to venture outside, but Isabelle wanted fresh air.

"No more lemon, no more roses and no more sprigs of rosemary! I want to go outside and sit in the sunshine! I want to feel the sun upon my cheek!" She had railed. The yelling had made her dizzy, but she would not let on. Her maid had finally acquiesced and Isabelle had dismissed the garden staff that she might enjoy the solitude of her day. She did not think she could bear to have the thoughts of the gardeners beating against her. She was still too weak to hold her own against many people.

James Norrington let himself into the back gate and walked slowly up the garden path. It was comfortably cool in the shade of the walk and James bent to smell one of the fragrant tropic roses that grew along the pathway. He glanced up at the window he knew belonged to Isabelle. The door to her balcony was propped wide open and the curtains flapped softly in the gentle breeze. He wondered how she was doing. He had neither seen nor heard from her since she had awoken.

He sighed and decided that he would ask Lord Beckett about his sister. He was still thinking about how to broach the subject of Isabelle Beckett when he rounded the curve in the path and entered the center hub of the garden. Isabelle sat in a lounge chair, her head tilted up to catch the full force of the sun's rays. A slight wind tugged at the fabric of the lacy collar on her gown and James caught sight of how thin she had truly become in her illness. The ridge of her collar bone cast deep shadows across her pale white skin.

Isabelle opened her dark eyes and looked around slowly. Someone was in the garden with her. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light of the noon day sun, but when they had she was quick to smile.

"James! What are you doing here?" She made a move to rise, but found it difficult. James knelt at her side smiling. He was happy to see her. It meant he didn't have to ask after her when he spoke with Beckett.

"I came to speak with your brother. I must say it is a pleasant surprise to see you."

"No it isn't." She saw herself through his eyes. Pale, all skin and bones, dark circles beneath her eyes. "I look like a cadaver."

"I've seen cadavers. You look nothing like any of them." Isabelle saw a memory of James'. Moonlight filtered through the clouds and a great battle raged on the decks of a man of war. She forced the moonlight drenched scene from her mind and smiled weakly at him.

"A good deal worse then…" James laughed at her. She still had fire in her. At least her illness hadn't robbed her of her spirit.

"I ought to lie to you and tell you that you look lovely, but then I might be doing you a great disservice. You might decide to stop eating and you'd disappear completely."

"Ha! You mean I haven't?" She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Damn if the banter didn't take all the wind from her sails.

"Are you alright?" James reached a hand out to grasp hers. The bones stood out on the back of her long elegant hands and the skin felt cool to his touch.

"I will be when people stop asking me that blasted question." She said through gritted teeth. She opened her eyes and turned them to Norrington. "I'm weak, I have to admit that. I get tired easily, but I'll be damned if I'm going to lie about indoors and let it get the best of me."

"There's the spit and fire I've come to admire!" He chucked her gently under her chin and smiled as he stood. "You're on your way to a fast recovery, I've no doubt of it. I'll leave you to it though, as I have some business to discuss with your brother."

She smiled as he bowed and strolled through the garden towards the house. Why did her heart feel lighter every time he was near? Perhaps it was because she could unburden her soul to him. He knew about where she had come from, he knew about Cutler's malevolent nature and the violence. They had shared much this past year, even if James Norrington had been gone through much of the winter. The only thing she could not tell him was her deepest, darkest secret…the one that would most likely drive him from her forever. That thought alone brought her back to earth, her heart feeling as if a leaden stone had been locked inside it. She winced at the painful thudding in her chest and lay back to soak up more of the sun's rays. She wouldn't think about that. It wasn't time to reveal everything.

* * *

Later that evening, Isabelle sat in her bed with a book in her lap. Slowly, her vision became clouded and she lost track of the words on the page. Deeper and deeper she slipped into the darkness and eventually let it envelope her.

Isabelle saw a darkened city built close to the waters' edge. Lanterns danced in doorways and the reflections flickered in the black water. The song Isabelle had heard in her dreams was sung by a solitary voice somewhere in the darkness. Soon she saw Elizabeth step from a shallow bottomed boat and stand facing men that were less than desirable looking. Isabelle stood in the shadows and watched as a man descended to the waterside. Isabelle gasped as she recognized one of the men from her dreams. _What had his name been? He was the one that had reminded her of Jack…Barbossa! That was it!_ Elizabeth and Barbossa made their way through the crowded underbelly of Singapore and were led to a bath house. Isabelle saw the patrons of the establishment and was shocked. They were not entirely human. One might say, they had been at sea a bit too long for many had sea creatures attached to their extremities. Steam permeated the room and released a bevy of scents into the humid air, not all of them pleasant. Isabelle saw Sao Feng emerge from the mists. She recognized him from the scars on his head and the crimson scarf in his hand. Elizabeth and Barbossa conversed with him for some time, Elizabeth growing angry, and Barbossa remaining calm and double dealing. Isabelle could barely follow the conversation when suddenly Will Turner was hauled from one of the baths, his arms lashed to a stout log cast over his shoulders. Both Isabelle and Elizabeth gasped when Sao Feng threatened to jab a pointed spike through Will's chin. Isabelle found it difficult to hold the connection, but she had been summoned to this, she had to see it through. Especially after going so long without knowing exactly where Elizabeth might have disappeared to and fearing she was dead. Isabelle watched as swords were drawn and a man held hostage by Sao Feng. The vision flickered and wavered and she struggled to hold fast to it. There was confusion, but she wasn't sure why. Before any blood could be spilled, Mercer and a squad of Company Marines entered the room. Shots were exchanged and Isabelle saw Mercer aim and fire at Elizabeth. He missed, when Will Turner dove and pushed her out of the way. The ball instead struck another woman in the forehead; she fell into the arms of her twin sister, the girl turning shocked and angry eyes on the dark Englishman. Isabelle watched Elizabeth fight with a ferocity that showed how hard the past eight months had been on her life. She was no longer the well bred young woman, daughter of a government official, but the product of hard living amongst pirates and scraping out a living by the edge of a sword. Isabelle lost track of Elizabeth in the confusion of the fighting, but instead found Will who had Sao Feng cornered at knife point. Isabelle focused all she could on what the two of them were saying, but could catch little. She felt wave after wave of mistrust wash over her and she finally understood that both were making deals that they didn't expect to keep. Sao Feng gave Will a tube shaped package and then waved in the distance. Will disappeared into the melee and Isabelle slipped away from the fighting, the darkness and found herself sitting once again in her own bed in her room. She took a deep breath which sounded loud in the darkening room and leapt with fright when she saw Cutler towering over her.

"Tell me, my dear. What is it you've dreamt of now?"

Isabelle's maid had come to tidy up and had found her mistress back in the throes of the sweat, similar to that which had gripped her more than a week and a half before. Fearing the illness had returned she had rushed to fetch Lord Beckett. Beckett had realized it for what it was and was now going to interrogate her before the vision slipped away, as most dreams are wont to do.

"I saw them. They're alive." She whispered. She glanced to where the maid cowered at the foot of her bed. "I'm thirsty girl, go fetch me some water."

"Right away miss." The girl ran from the room to do as she was bid.

"She knows not to talk. There's no need to send her away."

"I'd like for her to think of me as any other mistress and not fear me as a witch."

"As you wish." Cutler said with a shrug as he sat beside her. "Now, who's alive?"

"Swann and Turner." She sighed. "They're in Singapore."

"Then Mr. Mercer will find them."

"He did, but they will elude him. He'll be returning to us shortly." She leaned back into the pillows and shut her eyes. Cutler slipped his hand beneath hers and stroked the skin on the back of her hand.

"What were they seeking in Singapore?" He asked softly.

"I don't know. That was unclear." Isabelle wanted to go to sleep. The vision had sapped much of her renewed strength.

"You aren't keeping anything from me, are you Isabelle?"

"Of course not…." Cutler grasped her hand and squeezed it bringing her back to the present painfully. She hissed and tried to pull away.

"You had best not be. If you think of anything, you had best come to me post haste." He left her in the dark, rubbing at her hand where she was sure he had bruised it.

* * *

Isabelle insisted on not being allowed to sleep all day. This had a two-fold benefit for her. One, it kept her on a normal schedule of eating and exercise and a normal sleeping pattern and two, it prevented her from dreaming too frequently of anything she didn't wish to.

"It's time to put things into action on our front." Cutler announced the next week. "You'll be needed. You'll be accompanying me when the _Endeavor_ sets sail."

"Is the ship finished?"

"Yes, it was finished while you were ill. The information you picked up the other night necessitates our swift departure. Be ready as fast as you can. The ship shall be christened and sent on her maiden voyage in the same day."

The day of the christening dawned gray and slightly chill. Isabelle had filled out well, considering that it had been barely a full month since she had succumbed to the dreams and the sickness. She was almost back to her normal weight and looked less like a walking skeleton and more like the statuesque woman she was. The dress that Isabelle and her maid had chosen was still large in some places, but there was nothing to be done about it. The white material was offset by a wide blue ribbon around her waist and blue embroidery on the bodice. It was a flattering dress, but to alter the dress anymore than they already had would have destroyed the line and cut of the gown. It was still big around her waist, but they cinched it in as tight as they could with the ribbon. In deference to the poor look of the weather, she put on a long wool coat. The thin wool was a deep, midnight blue color with large glass buttons of the same color that marched up the front of the coat in two rows. The coat also had a high collar that kept the wind from her neck. Black braided frogging traced its way and curled up the sleeves from wrist to elbow and across the back and tails of the coat as well. The coat stopped just below her knees. It was well cut and warm, but not overly so. She wished her other coat hadn't been destroyed the summer before. The gray coat had been her favorite, but when she and James had spent those many days at sea, it had been beyond repair and she'd been forced to throw it away. She sighed as she thought back to her last sea adventure and hoped that the one she was about to embark upon went much smoother.

The _Endeavor_ was a large ship with triple gun decks that had been painted black and yellow. The sails were new and still white; they looked liked clouds wrapped around the masts of the great ship. Crewmen stood along the rails at attention and stared off towards the horizons. Merchants and officer's families crowded the quay and waved, trying to catch the attention of loved ones.

"Governor Swann! Lovely morning isn't it?" Cutler asked as he came to stand beside the older man. Isabelle grimaced, thinking that it was most certainly not a beautiful morning, but held her tongue. Cutler smiled and moved off to speak with someone else he saw in the crowd. The governor turned to Isabelle and bent over her hand. His eyes locked on hers a moment when he felt a piece of paper pressed into his fingers. She nodded, almost imperceptibly and moved on. She kept her eye on him as he moved away from the marines that were a constant guard to him that he might better read the note she'd slipped him in private.

_Do not ask me how I know the information I divulge to you, but your daughter is alive. Her last known location was Singapore. She's moved on. She and Turner are together, accompanied by a man named Barbossa and those loyal to Captain Sparrow. I know not what they do, or where they go. Just be thankful in knowing that she is safe._

She saw a slight smile cross over the governor's face and he tossed the piece of paper casually over the side of the dock and let the tide pick it up. Soon the ceremony was begun and the governor made a pretty speech, as did Cutler. It was only right, as he had financed the ship. James Norrington stood beside her throughout the long winded speeches.

"You look well this morning." James whispered without looking at her. "It's good to see you out and about."

"I'm glad to be out. I'm looking forward to this voyage for once."

"You're accompanying us?" Isabelle nodded slightly.

"You didn't know?"

"No. I had no idea you'd be coming with us." James wondered why Lord Beckett would insist on having his sister in his company. What good would she do aboard the ship? It was clear the man had no fondness for her. The memory of Isabelle's appearance in his stables the night Lord Beckett had struck her was strong in his mind. He looked down at Isabelle and saw her shift her feet as Beckett continued to prattle on about the strength of the company and the good that would come of having the _Endeavor _patrolling the Caribbean waters. "Lord Beckett…he hasn't tried to…" She glanced up at James, knowing full well what he was talking about. She'd seen the same flash of memory that James had. Briefly she thought of the night when Cutler had grasped her hand painfully but didn't want to worry James. It had been nothing, not to the extent Cutler's previous violence had gotten. She was almost grateful for being so weak.

"No." She whispered. The governor cleared his throat on James' other side and the two of them fell silent, their cheeks turning scarlet at having been scolded. When Cutler was finished speaking the crowd erupted into hardy cheers. Isabelle grimaced. How much coin had been distributed through the crowd to warrant such a reaction? She turned with the Admiral and was about to make her way to the ship when a voice in the crowd shouted out to stop the party.

"Isn't she going to be christened properly?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Cutler asked, peeved that someone should steal his thunder. A bottle of champagne was lowered from the poop deck and swung before the dignitaries.

"'Tis tradition to break a bottle o'er her. Brings the ship good luck."

"Let the lady do it!" Someone from the far side of the dock yelled. The crowd laughed nervously. It was quite unheard of for a woman to christen a ship; it was considered bad luck by many sailors. Isabelle heard the nerves and old superstitions race through the air from the sailors on deck.

"I couldn't possibly. It would bring the ship bad luck." Isabelle said, echoing the thoughts of many.

"I don't see why we should support such superstitious twaddle, my dear." Cutler said with a smug grin. "We are entering a new age and driving such nonsense from the water."

"Need I remind you, Lord Beckett, that you have in your possession a still beating heart of a legendary sea captain." She whispered close to his ear. "Superstitions and myth are still very much alive in this new age."

"And need I remind you, Isabelle, that you are in my keeping and will do as I instruct." Cutler whispered back grasping her arm in a tight grip, as if wishing to enforce his supremacy over her. "Now, give the people a good show and do as you are told."

Isabelle plastered a smile on her face to hide her anger and pain as she turned to Admiral Norrington.

"I'm sorry, but I've never been to one of these events. What is it I'm supposed to do?"

"Break the bottle across her side." James said. He was as nervous as she was. "Just swing it back and let it go." Isabelle grasped the bottom of the champagne bottle, the green glass feeling cool and heavy in her hand. She swung the bottle back and let it go. The thick glass bounced off the painted wood with a heavy _thunk_, but it did not shatter. The crowd gasped and Isabelle thought she heard the audible groan of the sailors on deck.

"She's getting over an illness!" Cutler said with a laugh. "She's not a very strong creature at her best of times!" Isabelle glowered at Cutler but James was by her side in a flash and caught the bottle up from where it swung slowly back and forth on it's rope. He looked down at her and noticed the bleached pallor of her skin.

"You don't feel faint do you?" He whispered, his hand going protectively to her narrow waist, prepared to drag her away from the edge of the dock.

"No, but I know that can't be a good sign." Her dark eyes focused on the place where the bottle had struck the wood of the ship.

"It's nothing. As your brother said, you're still weak from being ill." He guided her hand to the bottle and placed his over it. "Just let me…" He swung the bottle for her, putting more force into it and this time it shattered against the side of the ship. He whispered the name "_Endeavor" _and the crowd cheered, but the damage had been done. The ship had not been christened on the first go. Cutler, Governor Swann, and several other high ranking officers went up to the ship to take their places and prepare for the voyage. James accompanied Isabelle.

"So what is that?"

"That's a gangway." James said as they approached the slanted approach to the ship's deck.

"No!" Isabelle huffed and glared up at him. "That! With the bottle and the gasping! Really, I'm not so much of a girl as to not know what a gangway is."

"I'm sorry, I misunderstood you." James said laughing. "The christening of a ship is an old tradition. We did another on its launch day, but this is more of a crowd pleaser."

"What do you mean?"

"On its launch day, we all drank some wine on her decks, spilled a bit into the boards, and tossed the cup aside."

"Why would you do that?"

"It's an old tradition. In some places in England, it was the tradition to have the first toast on the ship be drunk from a very expensively wrought cup. When the cup was tossed over, people used to dive after it. It was believed that good luck and wealth would be brought to the one who came up with it."

"Well of course! If it was expensively made, the cup would fetch a small fortune at market, would it not?"

"True indeed." James said as they reached the deck. "Soon, ship builders grew angry at having to fund a cup, and so had only one made. Then they'd rig nets around their ships to catch the cup when it was tossed over."

"Why still toss the cup then?"

"Tradition." James said smiling down at her. "It had been done for so long, that it had become a part of ship building lore. To not throw a cup overboard was to doom the ship."

"Did Cutler have nets run about this ship?" Isabelle knew how tight fisted Cutler was. Either he would use a cheaply made cup, or he'd have retrieved it himself.

"Not necessary….we threw it into a rowboat to one of the marines."

"So why the bottle of champagne?"

"It became a bit of a show for the public--makes a big splash and noise and looks good. The other is more private. But that's all sailors' lore and you'd be bored to hear all of it."

"I'm bored standing on this deck watching Cutler and his cronies plot and plan!" She whispered. The ship lurched softly as it eased away from the quay and set out for the mouth of the harbor.

"Excuse me, I must go and see to our departure." James said bowing over her hand. He left Isabelle to walk the decks and watch the sailor's race up and down the masts along the ratlines, furling and unfurling sails and hauling tools up and down to their comrades who stayed aloft. She held a hand to her eyes and watched as the men leaned over the yardarms and let the billows of canvas catch the wind and help pull the ship forward. It was fascinating to watch. The ship eased out of the harbor and turned to follow the coastline. She heard laughter behind her and turned to see the men folk gathered around one another. _Telling some bawdy joke I have no doubt._

"See that they keep those ropes trim and the sails taught, Mr. Gilette." James' voice rang over the deck.

"Aye sir."

"Mr. Jones, alter our course four degrees to port. I'd like to avoid the shoals around Crock's Head Point.

"Aye Sir."

Isabelle watched James Norrington issue orders and felt the calm that he did. He was at ease on this ship. This was where he belonged. He looked over the decks of the ship and beyond the bow, focused on the spit of land jutting out into the sea, eyes trained to look for any danger that might befall him, his crew, or his ship. He glanced down and saw her staring at him. He smiled briefly before turning back to his duties to sail the ship and meet up with those already in the armada that Cutler had been gathering.


	26. New Surroundings

Isabelle took to stalking the decks at night, as she usually did when trapped aboard a ship. She watched as the sun dipped below the horizon and sighed. They'd been at sea for a week but had learned little. Cutler had asked her to use her powers to search for Will and Elizabeth, but she'd found nothing.

"I can't concentrate with all that banging!" She had grumbled, slamming her hand on the table in her cabin. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose and her eyes as the pounding continued to echo in her ears. She brought her eyes to Cutler's quickly. "You have that thing on board! The heart is here?"

"Well, I can't very well have it where I can't be in control of it, can I?" Isabelle stormed from her cabin and stood at the rail fuming. He didn't really need the heart at sea. Something must have happened to threaten the heart. A link in the chain of trust had been severed. Cutler was becoming more and more paranoid. Angry, she'd escaped the official cabin and had fled to the open solitude of the deck.

"Isabelle?" James Norrington came to stand beside her. But she did not acknowledge him. "Is everything alright?"

"No, it isn't." She eventually answered. The sun set the sky on fire and sank into the gray-blue sea as a bright red disc. She turned her back on the rail and leaned against it as she crossed her arms over her chest. "It's that damnable heart. I just found out it was on board."

"It's not all bad. It can't harm you."

"That's not the point!" Isabelle tried to keep her temper in check. It wasn't the admiral's fault that the heart was near by and her brother was losing his mind. It wasn't as if he knew that the heart did harm her. It wasn't as if he understood that what was a gentle and benign beating to a normal person was a deafening drumbeat that pounded behind her eyes and in her ears. She could not blame him for thinking the heart was harmless because she could not--would not--tell him how it affected her. Something was wrong in the world. It was as if everyone was terrified, the stink of it settling in Isabelle's nostrils like burning or rotting flesh. The same fear hung about her as well, she was not immune to it. She shook her head. "I don't like what it stands for, and I don't like what it does to people."

"Isabelle…"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore. Good night, Admiral." She stalked away and sequestered herself in her cabin.

* * *

Day after day, when she woke up, she was plagued with dreams of a massive ship firing its equally massive guns at smaller, weaker ships. And every day when she set foot on the decks she found that the _Endeavor_ was plowing through the debris of ships newly sunk. One day she stood at the rail and saw a flag floating atop the water, several dead men's weight supported by the voluminous fabric.

"You know something Isabelle." Cutler was standing beside her, his voice carrying a sing-songy tone that Isabelle didn't care for.

"Of course I do." She turned hard eyes on him. "I know that I saw these men alive, laughing and happy, sharing stories of their homes and families. I know that they had loved ones in Cherbourg to support. They were innocent men and Jones and his crew of brigands sailed through and cut them down like wheat before a scythe." Isabelle turned back to the water. "I saw them die. Just as I see them all die, every day."

Cutler was about to walk away when Isabelle called after him.

"Why does Jones hate you so? It can't be simply because you possess his heart."

"Well, Isabelle, if you must know…" Cutler strolled back to stand beside her. "It is because I forced him to kill something most precious to him. You see, it would seem that he doesn't want any real harm to befall his heart. If his heart is destroyed, he ceases to exist. Then he can't help us any more."

"What do you mean?"

"Jones had a pet, a mythical creature much like himself called the Kraken. I had him tell it to run aground, or I'd find someone to stab the heart and take over his duties as captain of the _Dutchman_." Cutler smiled. "Unfortunately he's not very controllable at the moment and he's angry with me for what he sees as a needless murder. That's too bad. He'll have to see the light sooner or later." Cutler walked away.

* * *

A few nights later, Isabelle joined everyone for dinner. Her head had ached and she had felt a pressure just behind her eyes all day. She drank deeply of the wine and tried to stay focused on the conversation.

"Miss Beckett are you well?" One of the clerks who were dining with them asked her. "You look a little pale."

"I'll be fine. Merely a head ache." She smiled at the man, though she didn't really feel it and then brought her eyes to Cutler's.

"Is it one of your usual head aches?" Cutler asked politely. "Perhaps you should go have a lie down…"

"I'll be fine…" But she wasn't. She held off as long as she could and waited until the others had finished their meals. As the door shut on the last of the mess, Isabelle's glass slipped from her fingers. It shattered on the wooden floor and as Cutler approached, he noted that her eyes were an eerie silver color.

"Mr. Mercer draws near. He has information for you." She slumped in her chair then and above, high in the crows nest, a call went up.

"Ship on the horizon!"

"Well, your ability is incredible, isn't it? Sighting ships from below decks before even our sharp eyed lookout sees it cross the horizon. Well done. Perhaps I should put you up in the crow's nest….give you a better vantage point?"

"You wouldn't dare…"

"You're right. I prefer to have you close…where you can be controlled." Cutler whispered, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Now pick up the mess you've made, and then get out." Isabelle heard him lock the door behind him, ensuring that she would not be able to leave until he wanted her to.

* * *

Isabelle dreamt again of more ships being destroyed but that seemed tame compared to her wakeup call. By afternoon, when she finally roused, Mr. Mercer was aboard ship. She was irritable at feeling his presence aboard the ship, his dark thoughts clouding the otherwise sunny day. Having his mercenary close by made Cutler happy, which in a twisted way served to depress Isabelle even more. Cutler's happiness was coming at the cost of others'. Isabelle went to Cutler's cabin and watched the buzz of business swirl around her. Men read reports and moved model ships on, across and off of a giant map of the seas. Mercer and Cutler were conversing on one side of the cabin while Governor Swann went over documents on the other. He looked up at her and nodded mouthing the words "thank you." Isabelle nodded back. This was the first time he'd gotten to thank her for the information she'd passed him on Elizabeth. Isabelle stood between the Governor's desk and Cutler's. If she could have gotten behind the Governor's desk it wouldn't have been far enough away from Cutler. On Cutler's desk sat a chest. It was a chest she'd seen before, in her mind; a chest that Cutler had taken from Jones to place the heart in. The sound of the heart beating resonated in Isabelle's head and she turned away to stare at the lines traced across the enamel of the globe. She traced a finger over the lines that depicted India. She cringed as Cutler spun a coin on his map covered desk and waited for it to come to a stop on its face before slapping it up into his hand again.

"A piece of eight…nine of them you say?"

"Our new friend in Singapore was very specific. Nine pieces of eight." Mercer drawled as he approached Lord Beckett's desk.

"What's the significance of that I wonder?" Cutler asked bringing his eyes from the coin to Isabelle. "Any ideas my dear?"

"None, sir." Isabelle said without taking her eyes from the globe before her.

"Does it matter?" Mercer asked. "Nothing can hold against the armada, not with the _Flying Dutchman_ in the lead."

"Nothing we know of." Cutler cut in.

"You haven't seen the _Dutchman_ in action, have you Mr. Mercer?" Isabelle asked. "Captain Jones is out of control." Cutler and Mercer ignored her mild rebuke and plowed on.

"Did your friend happen to mention where the brethren court were meeting?"

"He was mum on that sir." Isabelle saw a flash in her mind and saw the man lying dead. He'd been tortured. A long line of faces paraded after, one of them a pretty young oriental girl. Isabelle recognized her as the same girl that had seen her sister shot in Sao Feng's bath house. Isabelle hissed and turned away from them and strolled towards a window on the opposite side of the cabin, the air feeling suddenly stuffy and stale. Cutler ignored her, but pitched his voice low so that only he and Mercer could hear it.

"Ah Admiral!" Cutler said sounding surprised. Isabelle turned, equally surprised to see James away from the helm.

"You summoned me, Lord Beckett." Isabelle tried not to smile at the barely veiled irritation in James' voice.

"_So,_" she thought. _"I'm not the only one annoyed with Cutler's childlike antics._"

"Yes, something for you there, your new station deserves an old friend." Cutler's voice oozed. He loved surprises. This was one he especially relished. James looked at the desk, covered with shelves and boxes of parchment. Her eyes too, were drawn to the long, black silk covered box that seemed out of place amongst the business trappings. He ran his hand over the case before opening it to reveal a beautifully made sword. Isabelle saw in her mind the day Norrington had been made Commodore and being given the sword for the first time. She saw him carry it into battle against frightful, skeletal creatures—the same ones she'd seen when they'd spoken in the garden--and she saw him wield it again when he first went after Jack Sparrow. It was one of Turner's fine blades; sturdy, beautiful and yet dangerous.

"Not more requisition forms…" Governor Swann sighed.

"No sir, executions." The assistant muttered. The governor had not looked up when the Admiral stepped into the room, but he did when the sound of metal scraping metal echoed through the large cabin. The blade shone blue in the tilted light and Isabelle gasped as the true beauty of the blade was revealed.

"The brethren know they face extinction." Cutler muttered as he turned the coin over in his fingers. "All that remains is for them to decide where they make their final stand." Isabelle watched as James and the governor exchanged a concerned look. She'd have to speak with the admiral to find out what it meant, but she was sure it had to do with the knowledge that Elizabeth had been in Singapore at the same time as Mercer, and had been seen in the company of at least two well known pirates. Isabelle made a move to leave the room, trying to slip past James when Cutler stopped her.

"Wait, Isabelle."

"Yes?" Cutler had an odd look on his face, as if something had just struck him and a piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.

"When you were ill…how many names did you reveal?"

"I don't remember." Isabelle thought for a moment. _Sri Sumbhajee, Armand the Corsair, Chevalle, Villanueva, Mistress Ching, Barbossa, Jocard, Sao Feng, and Jack. By the powers, she had named nine pirates!_

"Eight sir." Mercer interrupted her thoughts. "She said eight names in her delirium." Isabelle glanced at James and saw him staring intently at her.

"A shame. If it had been nine, I would assume it was the names of those we were hunting." Mercer rattled off the names and counted them on his fingers. Both men turned to Isabelle. "Did you dream of anyone else while you were ill, my dear? Someone Mr. Mercer failed to mention."

"No. Those were the only nightmares I remember having." Isabelle said quickly. Cutler squinted up at her, trying to deduce whether she was lying or not. She left the room quickly, followed by James Norrington.

It didn't take long before he came to stand beside her at the rail.

"You didn't tell him about Jack." She said quietly. "Why?"

"I didn't think it was important. And I still don't." He answered back, equally quiet. "Jack Sparrow is dead."

"Then all this is folly." She looked away over the blue sea and sighed as the salty mist sprayed over her hands and face. "If the nine I named are truly the nine Cutler hunts for, then Jack is already gone. Calypso can not be freed since Jack is gone. He can't possibly be called on to release her." She shuddered. James wanted to ask her how she'd known about the pirates, how the dreams came to her and how she knew the nine pirate lords, but he didn't know how to broach the subject. Instead he continued on the present course of the conversation.

"We both know that, but Lord Beckett doesn't. This goose chase will keep him from doing more harm in Port Royal."

"And harm on the seas?" She glared up at the Admiral. "He's doing harm out here too, or hadn't you noticed?"

"The governor and I are hoping that in sailing about we may yet find Elizabeth..."

"She's safer fleeing Cutler." Isabelle shot back. "If you find Elizabeth, so does Cutler. You know the law...the dispensation from the King..." A dark thought crossed her mind and she saw Barbossa, Elizabeth, Will, Gibbs, and several other _Black Pearl _crewman lined up on the gallows. "It's a criminal offense to associate with those convicted of piracy, and she's with Barbossa."

"I thought he was dead too, but obviously not." The Admiral sighed and scratched an itch at the back of his head where his wig touched the skin of his neck. "Something isn't right, I just haven't placed it yet." He looked down at her but she would not meet his eyes.

"Something else we both know." Isabelle muttered. She moved away, hoping to find a sunny spot on deck to warm her hands which had suddenly grown very cold.

That afternoon, the chill spread from her hands to the rest of her body. She pulled on her heavy wool coat and paced the decks, breathing into her hands and shuffling her feet, trying to warm them too.

"Are you cold?" Isabelle stopped and chafed her shoulders while she turned to face the Admiral.

"I'm freezing."

"Do you feel ill? Shall I fetch the surgeon?" He stepped close and touched the back of his hand to her brow. He took her hands up in his and was bewildered by how cold they were. It was as if her hands had been carved from ice.

"I feel fine, only cold." She realized that she must still be connected to Will and Elizabeth and that they were in a remarkably cold clime. Perhaps the arctic…

"Bosun!" Head to wind! Lift the sail!" Isabelle looked over the bow and saw what was causing such a stir.

"Damn!" She swore as she began to move forward, pulling her hands from the Admiral's warm grasp. The Admiral looked up and followed her to the bow. A gust of wind picked up and carried the smell of burning wood, spent gunpowder and rot to their noses. Isabelle turned to see Cutler and Mercer stroll onto the deck to take in the damage as well. Cutler looked slightly perturbed. She looked back over the carnage that had been wrought. Bodies floated, water bloated and deformed, upon the gently bobbing surface of the waves. Boxes of cargo bobbed and rolled in the waves, many still tied together from where they'd been in the holds of the ships. An explosion drew her attention to the blackened hulk of one vessel which was slowly slipping beneath the waves, the masts tipped precariously into the water adding white billowing clouds of steam to the dense black, acrid smoke of the burning wreckage.

"Miss Beckett?"

"Yes?" Isabelle said turning to face the young midshipman who had come up behind her and the Admiral.

"Your brother has requested your presence amidships. Yours as well, sir." He said turning to the Admiral. "You're both to meet his Lordship by the long boats."

"We can't be looking for survivors, there won't be any." The Admiral said as he stepped past Isabelle. "What on earth could he want to go out in that for?"

"I don't think we go for survivors. I think we're going to parlay with Captain Jones." The Admiral turned to see the _Flying Dutchman_ sail from behind a billowing cloud of dense black smoke and come towards the _Endeavor._

They wasted no time in gathering a boarding party and making their way across the debris riddled waters towards the _Dutchman._

"Do you sense anything, dear?" Cutler whispered.

"Sadness." Isabelle immediately amended her assessment. "Anger."

The boarding party rattled onto the decks and brought the crew of the _Flying Dutchman _to the open hold at the center of the ship. Marines held their guns before them, ready to bring them to bear on their 'captives'. The Admiral was the first on deck; he spoke to several of his men, all of whom looked nervous at seeing the half men, half sea creatures that were assembled before them. Cutler came next, then Isabelle who was followed by Mercer. She shuddered and pulled her coat closer around her shoulders. She was still cold for some unknown reason. Jones stormed onto the deck and railed at Norrington.

"…And take that infernal thing with you!" Jones sputtered, sea water spewing from his mouth. Isabelle saw that two of the marines carried the heavy chest that contained the heart. "I will not have it on my ship!"

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that...because I will." Cutler snapped. "Because it seems to be the only way to see that this ship do as directed by the company." Cutler motioned with his staff and the Admiral looked to Isabelle, uneasy with leaving her in the company of so many loathsome creatures. She dipped her head slightly and locked eyes with him.

_I'll be fine._ The thought was unnecessary. He and the two men bearing the chest moved off to Jones' quarters. Isabelle felt eyes upon her and turned to see the Governor staring. He had only just joined them on deck and had seen the look pass between her and Norrington. There was much she had to discuss with him. Cutler's voice brought her back to the present.

"We need prisoners to interrogate, which tends to work best when they're alive."

"The _Dutchman _sails as its captain commands." Jones answered petulantly.

"And its captain is to sail it as commanded!" Cutler shot back. Isabelle watched as angry red flames engulfed Cutler as he strolled towards the legendary sea captain. How she wished the flames were real, and not just flames of his anger. She vaguely wished that Cutler would be consumed by his own anger. Cutler stood close to Jones and whispered. "I would have thought you'd learned that when I ordered you to kill your pet." Jones looked stricken and Isabelle shook her head. Cutler was a vile man when he wanted to be.

"Isabelle, you and the Admiral will remain aboard the _Dutchman._ The Governor, Mr. Mercer and I will return to the _Endeavor _where we can better conduct our affairs of state." Cutler turned on his heel before Isabelle had a chance to react. She chased after him.

"You can't mean that! I can't stay here!"

"You can and you will."

"My effects!"

"Are being brought aboard now." Isabelle turned to see her sea chest set down on the deck. She whirled on Cutler, anger showing clearly on her face. "I need you to remain with Jones. I might have need of you, I'll call and you'll pass the orders on to Jones. You'll also do the interrogating…"

"I won't send people to their deaths."

"You won't be killing anyone. Just gathering information before Jones does." To anyone else it looked as if Cutler was patting Isabelle's shoulder with brotherly affection, but he had actually clamped down quite hard. It was all she could do to keep her feet. "You'll be fine. Your precious Admiral will let nothing happen to you. Will you Admiral?"

Isabelle glanced over her shoulder to see the Admiral approach them. There was a cold fire in his eyes as he watched Cutler and Isabelle interact. "I will take personal responsibility for her safety sir."

"Yes, see that you do. Governor! If you please, we will return to the _Endeavor_ post haste." Isabelle wrenched away from Cutler and stormed down the deck to put as much distance between them as possible. "No goodbye? Well, isn't that a show of gratitude…."

* * *

Isabelle stood on deck that night and sighed deeply. Her stomach had a pit in it and she momentarily felt as if she had fallen. One of Jones' crew came up beside her. In place of a human head he had an eel's. The small beady eyes peered at her as he craned and extended his head around so he could stare at her directly. Isabelle glowered back.

"Yer a queer one, ain't ye?" He hissed. It was a low, not unpleasant voice. "Most women would be cowering below decks, terrified of our form."

"I'm not most women." Isabelle countered. She grasped the rail and hissed as the falling feeling intensified briefly.

"Miss Beckett?" She turned over her shoulder as she saw Jones and Admiral Norrington staring at her. James' hand settled close to his saber as he stared at the eel creature behind her.

"I'm fine. My stomach is a bit unsettled. I'll be right as rain when the seas settle." She said trying to smile. The deck pitched suddenly and Admiral Norrington seemed to accept her unease at being tossed about.

"There is a lack of adequate lodging on this vessel. We've set up what would have been the surgeon's cabin for your use. I'll take you to it momentarily."

"Where will you be staying?" Isabelle asked as she skirted Jones. The captain made her uneasy for some reason. She attributed it to his fearsome appearance, for there was little emotion she could glean from him. It no doubt had something to do with his not having a heart beating in his chest.

"I will be finding a place with the rest of the crew…"

"How will you manage that? It's cramped enough as is…" Isabelle turned to face him. The ship sailed at a decent capacity under normal circumstances, it's transfigured crew significantly more bulky than your average seamen. She'd seen one crewmember who looked to have an entire ship's wheel sprouting from his back. Far from ordinary to say the least, but now there was also a full compliment of Marines to be housed below decks. There was barely room for them, and many were giving a wide berth to the crewmen from the _Dutchman. _Space was very limited. "Besides, how will you run the ship without an office?"

"I'm sure I can figure that out in time." He said with a smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

"You thought the _Endeavor _would be your flag ship." Isabelle whispered. "This must be awful for you…" James shrugged, as if having the newest, fastest and sleekest ship in the Caribbean wasn't what he had most desired at the time. Being aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ and having to vie for command with a formidable sea captain was less than perfect. Admiral Norrington opened a heavily encrusted door and opened onto a room with several bunks, a table, a stuffed chair and an overhead lantern.

"This will be your cabin, Miss Beckett. I took the liberty of having your things brought down." Isabelle saw her chest tucked against the foot of one of the bunks.

"Who else stays here?" She inquired at seeing three other beds in the room.

"No one."

"This space can't all be for me…?"

"Who else would share it?"

"You?" James turned his eyes to her quickly, shock creasing his eyes and brow. "Come now Admiral, you must realize I don't sleep at night." Isabelle said casually. "And all this space is surely a waste. You can use this as your quarters in the evening and your office in the afternoons. I sleep in the mornings. That is the only time I would require any privacy."

"It wouldn't be practical." James straightened to his full height; he looked imposing, near filling the dark hallway. Light reflected off his gold braid and shone up onto the walls revealing the extent of the concretion of barnacles within the ship.

"Admiral, look around. None of this is practical. We're on a ship with crewmen who have sea urchins for heads and barnacles for ears. I think certain…allowances…can be made."

"We can discuss it at a later time. For now, get yourself settled here." He bowed to her and then moved down the corridor to see that his men were settled and the watches were established. Isabelle looked into the cubby hole built into the wall and saw her bunk. It was small, cramped, and did not look at all comfortable. She sat on the edge and sank to the wood beneath the thin mattress. If the bed had looked uncomfortable it was nothing compared to how uncomfortable it truly felt. How she wanted to put her head in her hands and cry. This was not a good situation to be in. She was stuck in close quarters with monstrous creatures and the heart of Davy Jones. It didn't take someone with Isabelle's power of intuition to deduce that the captain was less than thrilled to have it so close. The only good things to come from this situation were her distance from Cutler, and her proximity to the only friend she had. She looked up at the walls and sighed.

"When life gives you lemons…" She whispered. Life had certainly given her lemons, but she feared that making lemonade from them would be as easy as getting blood from a stone.


	27. The Green Flash

They'd been at sea aboard the _Dutchman_ for only a few days. Isabelle and James Norrington were sharing the surgeon's quarters. It was actually a wonderful arrangement for the two of them. Just before dawn, the Admiral emerged from the room and Isabelle would leave the post she'd assumed on deck and catch her own rest. She would rise around the noon bell and he would be able to do any reports that might need his attention between the noon bell and sundown. They would dine together and then the Admiral would retire for the evening, leaving Isabelle to wander the decks in the darkness and the pattern would start all over again.

"How is it you sleep during the day?" Norrington asked her one afternoon.

"I'm tired by then. I just can't sleep at night…not amongst all of them…" She glanced to the crewmen who were lounging around the decks, repairing nets or grunting and groaning while moving guns.

"I don't understand. At night they're all asleep. They can do you no harm then..."

"You wouldn't understand." She whispered. He stared at her, begging with his eyes for her to confide in him, but she shook her head. "I'm not sure I could tell you…not ever." She walked away from him and eluded him the rest of the afternoon.

She stared to the east this night, waiting for the sun to color the horizon a soft gray. She was nervous about something but was unsure of what it might be. The sun was just beginning to lighten the far eastern sky when James Norrington came on deck.

"I assume it was an easy night?"

"Yes. Calm and uneventful." Isabelle said with a sigh. "I suppose I should try to get some sleep." She staggered slightly as she left the rail and pitched into Admiral Norrington. "I'm sorry…I'm not a seaman, I can't manage these dips and rolls as you can."

"The ship hardly moved. Are you sure you're alright?" Isabelle grasped her head as her equilibrium tossed slightly, she felt as if the ship were in a violent sea, tossing back and forth.

"Yes. I'm just tired; I must be more tired than I thought…" She went to her cabin and began the process of getting prepared for bed. She disrobed and put on her lightweight dressing gown. The chills that had wracked her earlier in the week had disappeared and she was back to normal. She attributed it to the dank feeling of the _Dutchman_ and that she had grown accustomed to it, even though the chills had started aboard the _Endeavor_. She pushed from her mind the images of frozen rigging and sailor's skin tinged blue with the cold and ice in their hair. _It must have been my imagination_. She took her hair down and brushed out the knots and kinks until it glistened in the lamplight like summer wheat. The open front of her dressing gown showed where her skin was taking on a golden glow from the afternoon sun. She would have to be more careful, or she might get sun poisoning again, like she had last summer. Isabelle thought back to the days of the previous summer. She had sought out Jack Sparrow then and had found him. Though they had not seen one another for more than a decade, he had not changed over much. Finding Jack had started a chain reaction of events which had led her to this spot, sitting in the damp bowels of a ship with a captain who had tentacles for a beard. James had found the heart of Captain Jones and had brought it to Cutler in return for a pardon. They'd had to spend days in the hot Caribbean sun waiting for rescue. Isabelle shuddered as she remembered the painful burns, the peeling of her skin, and the terror of dying in a small open boat. She was still remembering that long ago day when she set the brush absently on the table before the mirror. She had just released the heavy silver brush when she quickly slammed her hand back onto it. She looked curiously at the item, and at other items in the room.

The lantern was steady on its hook in the wall, the chair was steady upon the floor and the brush did not slide across the table as Isabelle had expected it to. The rocking that she was so sure was happening to the _Dutchman _was happening in her head, the sensation greatly at odds with the steady orientation of the room. She stared into the mirror and watched as her eyes went from green to the faintest tinge of silver, as if her eyes were coloring with the first rays of light that now lightened the sky. She saw the silver mirror shimmer before her and her image, silver eyed and golden haired, disappeared. In its place she saw a clear blue sky unlike anything she'd seen before. The sea into which the white hot sun sank was as calm and smooth as a sheet of glass. Upon the endless blue expanse was a ship that rocked softly back and forth, the large masts streaking across the sky like a metronome. First the port rail would dip close to the water's edge and then the ship would slowly right itself, drawing even upon its keel, before rocking over so the starboard rail had a chance to dip low to the waterline. The motion of the ship seemed odd in such still waters until she saw the reason for it. The crew of the ship clamored over the decks back and forth, rocking the ship ever closer to a full roll. As she continued to stare she saw the outstretched arm of the figurehead and caught sight of a scarlet sash in the flurry of activity on deck. Was it possible? Was this vision ship the _Pearl?_ _NO! _It was impossible she quickly decided. The _Black Pearl _had been destroyed; she'd seen the splintered remains of the great ship in a vision and had felt Jack's loss as his presence was torn from her. That had been less than a year before and the open wound of his passing had healed. But had she not also seen the _Pearl _in another vision, intact and well maintained? Hadn't Jack also been present in that vision? And now here was this third vision, the _Pearl _rocking dangerously back and forth and Jack amongst a full crew's compliment.

_IMPOSSIBLE!!!! _

She reeled away from the mirror and staggered into the corridor, fighting the pitch and roll in her head, fearing she might be ill. _Air_…she needed air and lots of it. She also had a pressing need to see the eastern sky. She hadn't the foggiest idea of why, but that was where her feet wanted her to go. She hauled herself up to the quarterdeck and passed by the helm, the elevated deck afforded her a better view of the eastern horizon and she grasped the rail, believing it was the only thing that would save her from being tossed over the side. The sea below churned slightly in the lightening sky and Isabelle's silver eyes struggled to make sense of what she saw. She felt as if someone were showing her a painted piece of glass, able to see the image portrayed on the sheet, but also the image beyond it. She saw the churning sea beneath the _Dutchman's _keel, but also saw the _Black Pearl_ in the doldrums beyond, both images fighting for supremacy. Suddenly the _Pearl _keeled over hard, its masts slicing through the water with tremendous force. Isabelle feared that the tall structures might fracture, sheering away from the deck, but the calm seas allowed them to pass through easily, masts, rigging and sails slid intact through the water and the ship settled upside down; keel bobbing towards the darkening sky, masts pointed into the inky blackness below. As the ship had slipped sideways she had found it impossible to breathe. She could not inhale, nor could she exhale. Her grip on the rail tightened and she continued to keep her eyes locked on the distant horizon which was quickly turning a dusty rose. Isabelle watched as the sun above the doldrums sank ever lower in the calm sea as the sun on the distant horizon inched closer to free itself from the depths. She stared, entranced by the two suns sitting one atop the other creating a glowing orange figure eight before her eyes.

* * *

"Admiral sir…what's Miss Beckett doing up and about?" A young marine asked seeing the young woman at the rail above. The Admiral turned from where he'd been watching the morning rations dolled out and looked at where the man had indicated. The marine paid little more attention as the quartermaster handed him a plate with two hard biscuits and a slab of salt pork. Breakfast was far more interesting than the half dressed sister of an English Lord, attractive though she might be.

Isabelle stood at the rail, her robe blowing softly in the morning breeze. James sensed something was wrong, Isabelle should be lying in her bunk sound asleep, not waiting for the sun to rise from the depths of the sea. He climbed the steps to the quarterdeck slowly, his boots drumming softly against the worn decking. He held his breath for a moment and watched Isabelle for a moment, realizing that her chest did not rise or fall with her breathing. Now he was sure something was not right; Isabelle stood, still as a statue, neither breathing nor taking her eyes from the horizon.

* * *

Isabelle was transfixed as the twin suns melded into one. The vision sun sinking beneath the flat sea, only to join with the real sun as it burst from her own horizon. As it crested the distant swell of the earth, a flash of green light raced across the water, brushing over the _Dutchman _and all its occupants.

James caught sight of the green flash from the corner of his eye. He'd seen it a few times before in his long career as a Navy man, but never had he seen anything like this. The green light raced before the extending fingers of dawn's early rays and swept over the ship, the leading edge knocking Isabelle violently backward. Her feet left the decking she was hurled back so hard, her body curved unnaturally with the impact.

He'd seen men thrown that way in the heat of battle, usually when they'd been shot.

"ISABELLE!!!" She lay on the flat of her back, eyes staring eerily upward into the rigging of the _Flying Dutchman, _neither moving nor breathing. James knelt quickly at her side and stared down into her pale face, touching her cool cheek trying to bring her eyes to his. Her eyes were wide open and the same eerie silver color he'd seen them when he'd first met her on the _Pearl_. There was one difference; her eyes radiated a shade of green akin to the one that had just flashed from the rising sun, holding the light and shining it as a lantern through colored glass. The shine slowly diminished; the lantern flickering dead from behind the glass leaving only the eerie silver-china eyes.

_Please, you can not be dead._

No sooner had the thought passed through his brain than Isabelle gasped for breath, the sound loud in the early morning. Her eyes closed momentarily and when she opened them again they had returned to their natural shade of hazel. Her right hand flew to her chest, just beneath her collar bone, and her back arched from the deck, a look of absolute pain twisting her features horribly. She sucked air through her teeth and exhaled slowly, as if the very act of air entering or leaving her lungs was a painful experience. James saw her fingers claw at her shoulder and remembered the way she'd been flung from the rail. He had not heard a shot, but that meant nothing. There were silent projectiles; it didn't necessarily have to be lead thrown from a pistol.

"Isabelle? Isabelle, let me see…" He grasped her hand and moved it from the place she was covering, prepared to see a gaping hole and a good deal of blood, wondering from whence the shot that had flung her from the rail had come. But there was no blood; no gaping wound and he stared in wonderment as she continued to take labored breaths. Her hand shook in his and she tossed slightly, as if her body was convulsing. Soon she was laughing slightly, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to roll across her face and into her hair.

"He's back…" She whispered. Now he was unsure if she was laughing or sobbing. It sounded like a combination of both. "My God, he's back…"

"Who's back? What on earth are you talking about?"

She had seen it as clear as she had seen anything. The _Black Pearl _had risen from the depths as a cork would rise to the surface of a barrel after having been held down. Upon the decks stood Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth Swann, Will Turner and Captain Barbossa at his side. She had seen others she recognized: Jack's first mate, his helmsman, the dwarf and also the dark skinned woman who had haunted her dreams frequently since the boy had sung his song upon the gallows. But the others were only fleeting images skimming across her field of vision. They were lost to her as Jack Sparrow's kohl darkened eyes burrowed into her soul, his consciousness piercing into her like a needle through sail cloth.

"Jack Sparrow. Jack Sparrow is…" She winced again, clenching her hand where he still held it, the grip almost painful. _Where had she gotten such strength?_

"Admiral?" James looked over his shoulder to see his marines mixed with Jones' monstrous sailors and all were staring at Isabelle. "Admiral what's going on?"

He didn't even know what was going on, how could he answer his crew? James looked down as Isabelle burst into tears and cried out again.

"Oh—God it hurts!" Making a command decision Admiral Norrington quickly swept Isabelle into his arms and moved across the deck. Isabelle sobbed softly into the gold braid of his epaulets, clinging to him as if he were the only piece of wreckage left in an empty sea. He felt her fingers dig into the thick wool of his coat occasionally as wave after wave of pain wracked her slender body and he carried her quickly down the dark corridor and into their cabin. He felt her shudder in his arms and could hear her teeth rattle together as she shuddered in agony, trying not to cry out as he lay her upon her small bunk. James grasped Isabelle's hands in one of his own and felt them trembling violently, icy cold to the touch. Strands of hair had crossed her face and obscured her jewel toned eyes. He swept the hair from her face with more gentleness than anyone in his profession had a right to.

"What the devil is going on?" Captain Jones asked, having stomped into the room just as James had lain Isabelle upon her thin bunk. The piercing blue eyes of the tentacle faced captain glared at Isabelle who shut her eyes tightly and clenched her fingers into open claws. "Women!" He spat with contempt. "What sort of fit has gripped her?"

"I don't know. I thought she'd been shot…"

"Shot by whom, _Admiral_?" Jones sneered. "There's no one for miles, or hadn't you noticed."

"I had noticed that _Captain_." James snapped over his shoulder, choosing not to elaborate. Over and over he turned the scenario in his mind. She'd been standing at the rail as still as a statue when quick as you like she'd been flung off her feet. He had seen her fly through the air, there was no other way to put it. How could he explain what had happened to another when he himself didn't even fully understand what had just occurred? When the Captain realized the Admiral was not going to say anything more he harrumphed softly, his tentacles moving angrily upon his face and he stalked from the room; his peg leg sounding for all the world like a slow heart beat. James Norrington turned his attention from the place where Captain Jones had stood and looked back at Isabelle who now locked her eyes on his.

"Please…go away!" She moaned. Her face was pinched and contorted in agony. The tension in her fingers eased and she tried to free her wrists from the Admirals' strong hand. She turned her face from his touch and tried to take deep even breaths. Her jaw clenched tightly as another tide of pain crashed over her, curling her fingers back into the tense claws they'd been moments before. He felt the tendons in her wrists rise beneath his own fingertips, and he wondered that the cramps had not shattered her fingers they were so tightly and unnaturally curled. When her body relaxed again she brought her eyes to meet his. "I beg you…leave…"

"Not until I'm sure you're alright." James said staring down at her. "Let me help you Isabelle. For once, let me help you…"

Isabelle felt the tears in her eyes; they pooled at her lashes and made the Admiral a blur of color with no substance. He wanted to help her, and she wanted to let him help her, but there was nothing he could do. _Would he kill me if I asked him? That would at least stop the pain…and put an end to these visions! _She shook her head to dislodge the black thought. Self pity, loathing and thoughts of death were not going to help her in this. She had to be strong, she had to fight what was happening to her. His concern and his desire to help swept over her but did little to comfort her. Her body tingled as it grew re-accustomed to feeling Jack Sparrow. The bombardment of another's feelings assaulted her already overwhelmed senses and she fought to keep her back from arching again in agony. No, James Norrington could not help her by staying. He had to leave.

"If you truly wish to help me, you must leave." She whispered. Her eyes, red and filled with unshed tears, penetrated his and he slowly released his grip on her wrists. Isabelle clenched her jaw tightly and looked away. It would not take someone like her to understand the look of hurt that swept over James Norrington's face. "You must leave…." She repeated, the words agony to her though she kenw it was the only thing that was going to help her.

James watched as she released a shuddering breath and crossed one arm protectively over her stomach and the other clutched at the place on her shoulder where she'd first reached for it on the quarterdeck. James pulled the woolen blanket from his own bunk and spread it across her, tucking it up beneath her chin and sweeping one last lock of hair from her face. Her eyes were tightly closed but he saw her wince at his touch. He was an Admiral, a life long seaman. He'd been shot down by a woman before and had his heart broken. He hadn't realized until this moment that he'd grown fond of Isabelle as more than a friend. Though he hadn't thrown his heart at her, as he had done with Elizabeth Swann, the rebuke he had just received was enough to shatter the barely healed wounds. He stood in the doorway for a moment and watched as tears escaped from her eyes. With one last deep shuddering breath she turned into the wood of her bunk and sobbed herself to sleep. He only hoped that she would not succumb to this fit as she had weeks earlier during the hangings. She would surely die if she were to fall so ill on the ship and he had promised Lord Beckett that he would do everything in his power to protect her. Even if she turned him away from her in what he thought was an hour of need, he would do all he could to make it easier on her. If she believed that turning him out was what she needed, then he'd give her as wide a berth as possible, while sitll remaining appraised of her condition.

* * *

Isabelle heard the door click shut behind her as James walked silently away from the room. Every step he took was like a balm for her soul, but broke her heart at the same time. When she had started thinking of him as more than a friend was un-clear to her, but now when she needed comfort most she could not have it.

"_Why was I so cursed? Why should I be so deprived of what is natural in this world? I am a sin upon the earth, an abomination in God's eyes and I am being punished for it." _She thought darkly. The thoughts came to her unbidden, they were thoughts she often had when she succumbed to the self pity of being alone. They were doubled by being aboard the vile craft that was the _Flying Dutchman. _Such thoughts that were not going to help her get any stronger or help in healing. She pushed them from her mind and welcomed the black abyss of a dreamless sleep.

Isabelle slept throughout the day and deep into the night. Admiral Norrington stalked the decks as late as he could until he could no longer stand on his feet. Having no where else to go, he returned to the cabin he shared with Isabelle. He lit the lamps slowly and chanced a glance at Isabelle's bunk. She had turned during the day and now lay on her side facing the room. One hand was cured beneath her ear, the other hung part way over the edge of the bunk. Even in sleep, she had a look of intense concentration on her face. _Does she never rest? Is she always thinking or worrying over something?_ He wondered. He removed his heavy overcoat, waistcoat and wig and scratched his scalp free of the itch of the coarse false hair. It felt good to relax after such a trying day. Jones' crew had been on edge, his men had been on edge and it was all compounded with what had happened to Isabelle earlier in the morning, putting him on edge. To say that it had not been a good day for him was a vast understatement. And now he was exhausted. He perched on the side of her bed, as he had when he'd first brought her in, and brushed his hand over her pale cheek. He gently pulled her arm away from the edge and tucked her securely into the bunk. James stared at her face and watched, mesmerized as her features smoothed slightly only to be replaced with the pained look as she turned farther away from him. He sighed and went to the chair by the table and propped his feet up. Sleep was not far off, but he had work he ought to do. He had ignored the reports this day in deference to Isabelle's wishes that he leave her alone. Now seemed as good a time as any to go over the documents; if he was lucky, they might even put him to sleep.

* * *

Isabelle sat up and gasped. Something had pulled her from a deep sleep. She knew she had been dreaming, and that the dream had been pleasant to a point. But she could not grasp whole sections of the dream. She struggled to remember it, to maintain the wonderful feeling that had overcome her, but found it to be like trying to hold water in her hands. She had been in a room, comfortably appointed, she was sure, but she could remember no details. She remembered that someone else had been in the room with her, but she didn't know who that person was. She ran her hand over the place on her neck where her skin tingled, as if someone had been breathing against her ear. But no one had been, no one was near her. She looked across the room and saw James just stirring from a deep sleep himself. He opened his eyes and blinked before he groaned and ran his hand over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He glanced over to her.

With every blink of her eyes, every breath she took, the dream slipped further and further away. Where had she been? What had happened? Why had she awoken so suddenly and why did her skin burn so? It was not an unpleasant sensation at all. Slowly, even the fire ebbed away and she forgot the entirety of her dream, being left in the cold damp of the surgeon's cabin.

"How are you feeling?" James asked groggily. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "I didn't mean to doze off…"

"How long have I been asleep?" She asked, ignoring the question that seemed to plague her entire life. _How do you feel? _After strong episodes she felt tired. There was pain in her head, and often physically in her joints. People could see the effect the visions had on her, why did they insist on asking her how she felt. Didn't they know? But Isabelle knew they didn't. That was a talent that belonged singly to her. She never _had _to ask how someone felt; she knew instinctively. Often she was compelled to ask the dreaded question because she felt it wasn't polite to read them as she wished they could read her.

_How do I feel?_ She thought, going over what had happened. She still felt tired as she knew she would. She remembered the vision of Jack returning. She remembered the pain she'd felt in her chest, as if something were trying to wedge itself into a space too small. She then remembered the empty feeling she had felt when Jack had died. Now that he was back and alive, he was worming his way back into her life. It was as if the wound of his loss had scabbed over and his return had meant tearing the wound open anew that he might crawl back in and take up a place that had once belonged to him, but had since been occupied. James was speaking to her though and she forced herself to concentrate less on herself and what had happened and more on the other person in the room.

"You've slept for the better part of the day…my goodness, it's close to daybreak now…" James rose quickly and splashed water on his face. He donned his wig, checking in the mirror to see that it was on straight, and then put his coats back on and stood to his full height. "I must be up on deck to see to the crew. Rest for now and I'll have someone bring you some breakfast. We will have to talk later."

Who was Isabelle to argue? She lay back in her bed and turned again into the wall, as she had more than 24 hours before. A feeling of disappointment washed over her. Her eyelids felt as if someone had tied ballast stones to them and they closed against her will. Her mind raced frantically to recover the events of the day before, centering mostly on many chaotic thoughts of Jack's. But inspite of the intrusion sleep was quickly coming to claim her. It didn't seem fair…Jack could come back to her life in a flash of light, sleep could claim her in the pre-dawn hours as easily as a child claimed a toy, but she could not reclaim the dream that had put her at rest--she could nto remember the slightest detail of it.

It was so unfair...

* * *

**_A/N: Well, there you have it. The moment many of you have all been waiting for. I don't usually do dedications, but this chapter is dedicated to Nelle07, MiniKate, Olivegreeneyes and Wild Horses. Not only are they somewhat regular reviewers (and we all know how much I like reviews hint hint hint) but I know this is what they've been asking about since way way back in Chapter 10. Remember, I love reviews so PLEASE tell me what you think of this...my mailbox is unhappy and lonely and needs your lovin'! _**


	28. War of Words

Isabelle stood at the bow of the _Flying Dutchman_ and looked into the fast setting sun. The large orange orb was beginning to turn a gruesome shade of red as it sank lower and lower into the darkening sea. She took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent smell of salt air and tucked an errant strand of her sun bleached hair behind her ear. On the distant horizon she could see a ship just beneath the curve of the sun. In another moment, the ship would be hidden by the blaze of light. She shuddered as the top mast of the great three decked ship was obliterated by the failing light.

It was the _Endeavor,_ and because they were on the _Flying Dutchman _it had taken them little more than a day to reach them. Isabelle squinted again as the sun sank lower and now it was impossible for her to maintain eye contact with the ship. It had been two days since she had been cast down by the severity of Jack's return. Fast on the heels of that lovely moment in her life had come another vision. It had been strong, no doubt about that. But it had been one of the easiest visions she'd ever been able to maintain.

Only the day before, Isabelle had stood at the aft portion of the _Dutchman _and been dragged, mentally, to the aft cabin of the _Endeavor._ It was there that she had seen play out a double deal that would rival any made in the previous or upcoming centuries, possibly of all time.

* * *

"Curious." Cutler had said when Jack had been thrust into the room. "Your friends would appear to be quite desperate, Jack. Perhaps they no longer believe that a gathering of squabbling pirates can defeat the _Flying Dutchman._ And so despair leads to betrayal." Isabelle watched, curious, as Jack began to open jars and pots left on the desk beside the door. "But you and I are no strangers to betrayal, are we?" Cutler turned and began to walk towards the dirty pirate. "It's not here, Jack." Jack's back seemed to straighten and he turned to face the uptight English lord standing opposite him.

"What? What isn't here?"

"The heart of Davy Jones. It's safely aboard the _Dutchman_. And so unavailable for use as leverage to satisfy your debts to the good captain."

"By my reckoning, that account has been settled." Jack said as he walked towards the maps and globes.

"By your death? And yet here you are…"

* * *

Even now, more than twenty four hours later, Isabelle shuddered at the veiled hint of anger that had been in Cutler's voice. His thoughts had centered on one thing for a brief shining moment and that thought had burned itself in Isabelle's brain.

"_That bitch lied to me!"

* * *

_

"Close your eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream. That's how I get by." Jack muttered, staring at the large painting of Cutler that was propped in the corner of the cabin. Isabelle realized that it was true. Anything that didn't suit Jack well enough, he pushed aside and instantly forgot about, as if it were a bad dream and not something to bother him.

"And if Davy Jones were to learn of your survival?" Cutler asked. "Do you think it would behoove you to forget your debt to him as if it were a bad dream?" Jack turned from where he'd been imitating the pose Cutler had struck for the painting. "Perhaps you'll consider an alternative arrangement. One which requires absolutely nothing from you but information." Jack took one glance at the map on Cutler's desk and saw nine pieces of eight laid out upon it.

Isabelle, thinking fast, tried to communicate with Jack. Her lessons with Kapil had not been forgotten and she knew that if she had a connection with someone—if someone had drawn her to them or if she had allowed herself into someone else's thoughts—she could impress things upon them as well. She hoped that she was strong enough now and sent a blasting message across the seas to Jack.

"_He knows, Jack! He knows about the brethren court! He knows that he needs nine pieces of eight!"_

Jack brushed her thoughts away as he might brush a fly from his face. His mind was crowded and she felt as if she had had to shout to be heard above the din. Jack's mind was always working—always trying to stay a step or two ahead of those who had it out for him. She heaved a great sigh of relief with his next question.

"Regarding the Brethren Court, no doubt. In exchange for fair compensation?" Jack downed the brandy in one quick gulp and turned his dark eyes on Cutler who looked deeply annoyed at his rude manners. "Square my debt with Jones…guarantee my freedom."

"Of course. It's just good business."

"Were I in a divulgitory mood, what then might I divulge?"

Again, Isabelle felt the need to impress her thoughts upon him. _"Don't Jack! Don't give him anything. You put us all in danger! Elizabeth, William, You, me…."_

"Everything! Where are they meeting? Who are the pirate lords? What is the purpose of the nine pieces of eight?"

"I couldn't possibly give you that until I have me terms laid out, now could I?" Jack said maneuvering around the crowded cabin. He picked up a finely made black silk fan, one that must have been left behind when Isabelle's things had been so hurriedly packed aboard the _Endeavor_ the week before. She narrowed her eyes and watched as Jack flicked it casually open and began to lay out his terms.

"You can keep Barbossa. The belligerent homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye, both. And Turner. Especially Turner." He added as he snapped her fan roughly shut.

_What had Will Turner done to lose so much of Jack's trust? _Isabelle wondered. She had thought them friends at least, but then she wasn't privy—tried not to be privy—to all of Jack's rambling thoughts and inner secrets.

"The rest go with me on the _Pearl. _I'll lead you to Shipwreck Cove, where I will hand you the pirates and you will not hand me to Jones."

Isabelle heard the duplicity in Jack's words and smiled. He had not said "the pirate lords" he said only that he would hand over pirates. Her heart leapt at the thought that Jack knew not to give up too much to her pale and calculating brother. Regardless of the safety that Cutler offered him, Jack valued his way of life and his deeply ingrained code of honor above all else. He would not sell himself for so cheap a thing as not being turned over to Jones. "Bloody fair deal, don't you think?"

"And what becomes of Miss Swann?" Cutler asked staring at one of the pieces of eight.

"What interest is she to you?"

"Elizabeth Swann is a fine woman. She would make any man proud to have by his side." Isabelle's skin crawled at what Cutler was insinuating. "She has a certain fire and passion and yet knows how to behave in polite society."

"That's what you think." Jack grunted.

"I want her, Jack."

"She's not a part of this." Jack fiddled with some of the figurines on Cutler's desk. He was ending negotiations. If they were not on his terms, they would not go on at all. Isabelle saw Cutler standing in front of a hall of influential men, Elizabeth Swann standing beside him. She looked defeated. Isabelle had never seen Elizabeth Swann look like that and thought she never would. Elizabeth was a strong woman and would not be cowed by any man. Isabelle quickly realized that the Elizabeth standing beside Cutler was a fantasy; one her brother hoped to turn to reality. Isabelle turned her attention away from Cutler's deranged fantasy and focused again on his and Jack's conversation.

"Jack. I've just recalled. I've got this wonderful compass, which points to whatever I want." Cutler had risen from his desk and crossed the room. She watched as Cutler smiled a catlike, feral, smile and went to the secretary's desk that contained the compass. "So for what do I need you?"

"Points to the thing you want most. And that is not the Brethren Court, is it?" Jack was grasping at straws. He knew how to work the compass, to turn a person's mind to get them to use the compass the way he wanted them to. He only hoped that Cutler would believe him as he began to spin his web.

"Then what is Jack? What is it I want most?"

_Tell him anything Jack! He wants me, he wants Elizabeth! He wants the world at his feet!_

"Me." Jack said with a grin. Isabelle groaned. She knew that Cutler really wanted her, somehow the vision of her and Elizabeth had become crossed. If he could not have Isabelle because of any familial bonds that might be questioned—adopted though she was--he'd go after Elizabeth Swann, who had equally impeccable breeding and a fire which needed to be quenched and driven from her. Isabelle cringed at the realization of how much Cutler enjoyed breaking people. "Dead." Jack added with a grimace.

Suddenly there was another vision and Isabelle realized that Cutler had figured out Isabelle's connection to both him and Jack. He knew it was a blood tie between the three of them through her. If Jack were gone, then Cutler would have full control over her again, and she'd be continually weak and pliant to his every wish. He could overpower her without the worries that Jack might come back to embolden her or strengthen her in someway.

_Well I'll be damned…

* * *

_

That was why she now stood at the bow of the _Dutchman, _staring out for the first glimpse of the _Endeavor. _She had wondered briefly when Cutler had made his discovery and if he knew the full extent of the effect they had on one another.

* * *

The conversation had continued, centering for the most part on the fact that even if Jack double crossed Cutler, as Isabelle knew he was intending, Cutler now knew the location of the brethren's meeting and could more than likely get there on his own.

The meeting had come to a close when the _Endeavor _had been fired upon by the _Pearl_. With the meeting's end and Jack's departure from the room, Isabelle found it difficult to maintain the connection on her own and so let it slip away.

Her knees had gone weak when the connection had been severed and she was shocked to be caught up by the tentacle and claw that Captain Jones had in place of human hands. She glared up at him.

"Still feeling a bit weak, are we?" He drawled, his glacial blue eyes cutting into her, but she would not dignify him with an answer. She couldn't for Cutler's voice rang loud in her head.

"_Isabelle. Tell Captain Jones to sail for our rendezvous point."_ Cutler knew he could communicate with her over great distances. Damn him for intruding upon her so! She cursed herself for not being able to shield her self from his thoughts.

"It isn't polite, Captain, to sneak up behind people." She said finally.

"It isn't polite, madam, to keep secrets aboard a man's ship."

"I didn't think that label applied to you anymore, Captain Jones." Isabelle shot back as she stepped away from the rail and made to walk away. She was angry. She didn't know if it was residual from Cutler, or if she were angry in her own right. "Now if you'll excuse me…" Jones' claw tightened about her upper arm.

"I think you'll find that another label that doesn't apply is 'merciful.' I might be forced to sail with you, the Admiral and my heart aboard _my_ ship, but _I_ am still captain here and will be treated with the respect that _that_ label affords me. Do I make myself clear?"

"You are not the highest ranked member of this crew any longer _Captain_ Jones." Isabelle murmured, her eyes blazing angrily. "Now, unhand me."

"Captain Jones!" Isabelle looked around the captain's mountain of a shoulder and saw Admiral Norrington standing behind them. His hand clasped the hilt of the saber hanging at his side and he glared furiously at Davy Jones. "You will unhand Miss Beckett this instant."

"I was only having a discussion with the lady." Jones' claw gripped tighter around Isabelle's arm for a brief instant, but she was careful not to wince with the pain of it. She had to tell Jones he had to meet with Cutler.

"Yes, one which we are not quite finished with, Admiral. We'll be just a moment." The Admiral stayed where he was, near the helm and watched as Isabelle turned calmly towards Captain Jones. "You suspect I have a secret, and in that you are right. I have orders for you, Captain. Lord Beckett arranged a rendezvous point with you and we are to meet him there with all haste. It is an emergency and of the utmost interest to you." Jones' height was imposing, even to one as tall as herself and she had to tilt her head back to meet his icy gaze. The tentacles on his face twitched and shuddered angrily. He made a noise that might have been a growl and suddenly the pressure on her arm lessened. He released her forcefully and stalked away, his own crew moving swiftly to stand aside and let their captain pass.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" James asked coming quickly to her side.

"I'll be fine." She said staring at Captain Jones' retreating back. James hovered at her side for a moment before he too went off leaving her with her thoughts at the stern of the big ship.

* * *

Isabelle rubbed at the place on her arm again. It still hurt; the bruise that had formed was hideous. She had bandaged it herself as parts of it had bled where the serrated edge of the claws had broken her skin. The sun had sunk lower and now it was near impossible to see the _Endeavor._ A breeze kicked up and she shivered, pulling her collar closer to her neck. She turned and looked over the deck where the sailors were preparing to come abreast of the _Endeavor. _She saw James Norrington below, speaking with a lieutenant. He glanced up at her, but his eyes held little of the warmth that they had in the past. She had feared this reaction from him, but not for the reason it was occurring now.

* * *

She had been sitting in her cabin after having bandaged her arm when James Norrington came in.

"I'm sorry…I'll be leaving in a moment…" She said as she tucked the rest of the bandages into her bunk. She turned to see James Norrington looking uneasily at her.

"Miss Becket…I need a word with you."

"With me, Admiral?" He was uneasy about something and she thought it might be stemming from her rebuff of him the day before. She had meant to speak with him about it but didn't know herself how to breach the subject.

"Yes, I'd like to speak with you about the incident with Jones earlier." That hadn't been what she was expecting at all.

"There was no incident…we were having a conversation when I lost my balance." She said smiling. She shook her head. "Really, you know how clumsy I am…."

James reached out and grasped her arm in the same spot Jones had. She hissed and tried to pull away from him. "That may have worked before, but I think there's something more going on. I think it's imperative that the two of us discuss what's been happening on this ship."

"Why would I know what is going on? I'm just a woman…"

"Why would your brother allow you to be on this ship if you didn't have something to contribute?"

"I think he wanted me far from him…"

"Then he would have left you in Port Royal." James snapped. "We've known each other for some time now and I've come to realize that there are things you aren't telling me."

"You aren't meant to know everything." Isabelle said darkly.

"Is that the plan you and his Lordship came up with?" Isabelle was shocked into silence. She had never spoken to this hard, calculating and suspicious James Norrington. "Have a seat, Miss Beckett."

"I think I'd prefer to stand." Isabelle watched as Norrington went to the table he used as a desk and took a seat there. She didn't know what to think at this point, but she didn't think she wanted to go down this path at the moment. Her mind and body had yet to heal after Jack's surprising return. THere was still a dull pain that seemed to have taken up a permanent place benath her collar bone and refused to move. A verbal match between her and her only friend was not something she was fully up to. Some part of her was ignited though and she rose to the challenge in spite of herself. "As you said, Admiral, we've known each other for some time. I think we're good enough friends to speak plainly."

"Then why don't you?" When she did not immediately answer he went on. "What is it you aren't telling me?"

"Were I in a divulgitory mood, what then might I divulge?" Isabelle asked, parroting what she'd heard Jack say to her brother.

"Everything! I want to know everything and anything you want to tell me."

"Well then, that's settled. I have told you everything I _want _to tell you." James' anger was quiet and controlled. Isabelle watched as the flames were held low and close to him. She knew her own anger was banked the same.

"I can't help you if you won't tell me anything."

"Even if I were to tell you everything, you could not help me." Isabelle's voice softened, her eyes had shifted from being dark and angry to dark and sad. She had to try to make him understand but didn't know if she could. "Don't you see James, you can't save me. I'm not like the damsels in the story books. I'm too far gone…a lost cause." Isabelle went to leave the cabin, but James' cold voice stopped her.

"I know a thing or two about lost causes, Miss Beckett. I thought I was one once….you helped change that." Isabelle turned back towards him.

"Not I. You have my brother to thank for that, and the heart of Davy Jones. I'm just a silly girl who's gotten herself stuck in a bad situation turning worse." She left the room as quickly as she could.

* * *

They had not spoken since then. The unease that rested between them was tangible and marines and _Dutchman _crew alike knew that something had occurred, that something had changed between their admiral and the woman. Admiral NOrrington dispatched his marines and lieutenants to bring messages to her when he had usually gone and spoken with her himself. Everyone knew that they'd had a falling out of sorts, but Isabelle wasn't sure why his pride was so wounded. She'd been as honest with him as she could. She had had nothing to do with his turn around from a rum soaked, self pitying shell of his former self to what he had become now. Perhaps she'd shattered an illusion of his and he resented her for it.

She let her mind wander and tried to imagine what it would be like to tell James Norrington that she was connected with the two men he despised most in the world. She tried to imagine telling him everything, baring her soul to him and telling him her deepest secret. Part of her mind saw what she always saw. She saw herself condemned as a witch, rotting in a cell in a deep pit of a prison. She was ragged, and dirty and ill. She never saw anyone who cared for her ever again and she would die cold, and alone. That was benign compared to what she usually saw…a flaming pile of dry debris and her trapped in the middle of it. She shuddered in spite of the heat of the flames whipping through her brain.

However, there was a very small part of her that dearly desired that James would be more understanding. He'd seen things that didn't altogether make sense in this world; walking skeletons, a beating heart kept in a wooden chest, a sea captain of bedtime stories. He was now sailing on the same vessel—a vessel concreted in sea life as were the crewmembers who manned it. These were all events and occurrences that under normal circumstances would force people to believe they'd gone mad. James Norrington knew that they were real though. Why should not her ability to read people also be real? Would he believe her? Would he still have been her friend if she had told him? It was useless to think on such things. It would take time to re-build their friendship, to salvage it, before she could broach the subject to him. And that didn't seem like an immediate possibility.

He did not look her way again, and she felt the force with which he was trying not to pay attention to her. She took a shuddering breath in the failing light and looked to where the _Flying Dutchman_ had closed the distance to the _Endeavor. _They would board soon and find out why it was that Cutler had summoned Captain Jones to him early.


	29. Keeping up appearances

Isabelle climbed up the side of the ship and was assisted over the rail and onto the deck. She clung to the marine for a moment before stepping away and smoothing her skirt down.

"Thank you…"

"It was nothing, Miss Beckett." Isabelle looked up quickly into James Norrington's bright eyes. He smiled down at her and then moved across the deck and into the dark corridor that lead to Cutler's cabins. Isabelle stood beside the rail for a moment, shocked that he had not only spoken to her but that he had assisted her. Perhaps whatever had built between them was gone. Someone cleared their throat behind her and she realized she was blocking access to the deck of the _Endeavor._ Shaking her head she moved on and dashed th positive thought from her mind. MOre than likely he was just being kind. It didn't take a wise man to know that it wasn't an easy task climbing rope ladders and flinging oneself over rails while wearing a skirt and cumbersome petticoats Soon Isabelle arrived at the door of Cutler's cabin. She stood next to the door and listened as Cutler railed against Admiral Norrington.

"I don't care what you have to do, Admiral, but I expect you to find Sao Feng and stop him!"

"It will take time, my lord…"

"Just do it!" Isabelle flinched as she heard something crash inside. Captain Jones stomped gruffly past Isabelle and went into the room without saying a word to her. She remained in the hallway and listened as the three men bellowed at one another. The heat from their argument spilled through the thin walls and into the hall where she stood. Sweat dotted her brow and slid slowly across her temple. She finally gave in and loosened the scarf she had around her neck and pulled the collar of her shirt open. She fanned the air in front of her face with her hand in a futile attempt to cool herself down. One last burst of heat from the argument within the cabin suffused the corridor and Isabelle had to press herself into the wall to keep from being run over by the angry Captain Jones. Admiral Norrington was fast behind him and he glanced quickly at where Isabelle stood trying to refasten the ties and buttons at her throat.

"Your brother wants to see you, Miss Beckett."

"Thank you Admiral." Isabelle sighed as he disappeared up the hallway. He had wanted to ask if she was alright. She was beginning to dread the question. It made her want to tell him everything about her just so he'd stop inquiring after her health. Isabelle smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear and slid into the cabin to see Cutler pacing back and forth.

"You!"

"If you prefer I'd not be here I'll go back to the _Flying Dutchman_." Isabelle said indignantly. He had been the one to summon her here. If she'd have had her way she'd have told Jones to sail to the farthest side of the world from Cutler.

"You most certainly will not." Cutler snapped. "How much do you know?"

"I know that Jack is back. I know that you want him to lead you to the brethren court." She looked pointedly at the large hole that yawned in the back of the cabin.

"Will he stay true to it?"

"I don't know. He's Captain Jack Sparrow, he never stays true to much of anything accept himself."

"Damn it Isabelle!" Cutler shouted and slammed his open palm against his desk. Small lead soldiers clattered and fell and for a moment Isabelle saw them not as lead representations but as flesh and blood soldiers that had succumb to the heat of battle. She brought her eyes up to Cutler's. "You don't understand at all, do you? This is no laughing matter."

"I understand far better than you think."

"Then why do you _insist _on angering me?" Cutler came from behind the desk and walked slowly towards her. She tilted her chin up as if daring him to come closer, when in reality her knees felt ready to give out and she was terrified. "Will Jack lead me to Shipwreck cove?"

"No." Cutler's anger was plain upon his face and he chewed at his lower lip.

"Can you track them?"

"Track who?"

"The _Pearl,_ Isabelle! Of what have we been speaking?" He crossed the room quickly and grasped her already injured arm. His arm came up and she managed to block him with her free hand, her eyes blazing with her own anger. He grasped her arm tighter causing her to yelp and release his wrist. His hand flew quickly to her throat. He now had full control of her and he marched her back towards the hole in the wall of his cabin. "Tell me Isabelle, did you hope to protect them by playing dumb? Did you think that your bonny Admiral would protect you always?" She would not dignify his questions with an answer, she was more concerned with her own self preservation. She struggled against him even as she was backed towards the hole in the side of the ship and bent backwards out over the open sea. She grasped his waistcoat in her free hand and maintained the hold. If she were to go over, she'd do her best to take him with her. "Do you know where they are? Captain Sparrow? Elizabeth Swann? William Turner? Can you track them?"

"Let me go…you're hurting me."

"I won't let you go until you tell me what I want to know."

"I won't lie to you." She ground out. "I'll tell you what I know, but I won't lie and tell you what you want to hear."

"Then tell me, my dear….tell me all your secrets." Cutler whispered. Isabelle's eyes darkened and she thought briefly about holding her tongue. "Come come…no need to play coy with me. Tell me all your secrets as you've told Mr. Norrington." When she still did not answer his smile grew. "Oh how quaint…you've kept it from him…my my, but you are one for secrets and intrigue and _lies_, aren't you?"

"No, I just don't want to lose his friendship…" Cutler's grip tightened on her throat and she squeaked at the loss of breath.

"Friendship? You are in a business relationship with him, nothing more. He is using you as much as you are using him. Keep your nose to the grindstone, your ear to the ground and your eye to the horizon and do what you're paid to do." Isabelle's eyes darted towards the door of the cabin only a moment before the door flew open.

"Excuse me, Lord Beckett, it's time to…" Admiral Norrington had entered the room and seen Cutler only just allowing Isabelle to stand. Her hand went to her throat and she cleared it, thankful to be able to breath again. "I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?"

"Not at all, Admiral. I was just wishing my sister a bon voyage." He smiled and Isabelle dipped a slow curtsey, her eyes still holding to the anger she felt at being threatened by him. He was a bully, there was no other way to put it. She swept out of the cabin and onto deck, enjoying the crisp evening air. Lanterns were hung above the deck and crew men were desperately lashing the mast upright from where it had cracked and fallen into the water. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and went to where she could be assisted down into the long boat to be taken back to the _Flying Dutchman._

"Did he hurt you?" James sat beside her and whispered, lest the few marines in the boat with them over hear. She clasped her hand over her arm where blood had seeped through the bandages and her dress. It didn't hurt really, but her dress was certainly ruined.

"Not enough to do any real damage." Her voice was flat, her eyes cold and James realized there was no fight left in her, she'd exhausted what energy she had in trying to stand up to her bully of a brother. "It's nothing, really..."

"It _is _something, Isabelle. Why won't you allow anyone in to help you?" She turned the cold eyes to him and she shrugged, a slow motion in the bobbing surf.

"Because it is my fight. I have to do it on my own." She turned away from him then and did not say another word to him. When they reached the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ James again helped Isabelle over the rail.

"Go clean yourself up. Take as much time as you need." He watched as one of Jones' monstrous crewmen slowed down and stared at them.

"I smell blood." The creature's beady eyes searched the deck for the source of what he could smell. James assumed it was the shark in him as he had the head of a terrifying hammerhead shark. James grasped Isabelle's arm where her dress was stained. Isabelle flinched--his touch was feather light against her arm, unlike anything she'd felt in days from another person.

"Go about your duties." Admiral Norrington growled. "You've no concerns here." The crewman grumbled in return as he moved on and James turned back to Isabelle. He opened his mouth to say something but she interrupted.

"I'm going, no need to tell me twice after such an event." She went quickly for several reasons. Not only did she want to clean herself up to prevent Jones' crew from paying her anymore mind than they already did, but Mr. Mercer was about to come on deck and she wanted to be nowhere near the man.

* * *

Isabelle took her time cleaning up. It was hard in her current conditions, but it gave her time to think. The water was still slightly salty and though she didn't feel clean, it was better than nothing. She stripped down to her shift and corset and ran the wet cloth over her neck and chest. She cleaned the cut on her arm and re-bandaged it. Sighing heavily, she looked in the mirror. She remembered a time when she'd been the glowing gem of the Beckett household. She remembered when hot water had been brought to her whenever she desired it and her hair had been clean and well dressed. She remembered when her eyes had been bright with happiness and not the dull pools she now gazed into in the dull reflection of the mirror. She shook her head sighed again. That was long ago, when she had been young and the world lay before her. She was twenty eight now and still single.

Cutler had seen to that.

Cutler saw to everything in her life; every miserable aspect of it. And she was forced to be grateful. She stifled a third sigh and moved to her seachest to see what she wanted to wear. She decided to be slightly vain and dressed with great care. She put on a green dress that made her eyes come alive. She might be depressed and her eyes might be dull, but the bottle green material of the skirt and jacket went far to putting some light back in them. The calico material of the waistcoat beneath was patterned with colors of the fall. The linen shirt had a high collar and she tied a silk cravat in the same color around her neck. She took a moment to look in the mirror and smiled sadly. She had worn this shirt before when Cutler had left bruises on her throat. She had noticed faint discolorations on her neck where he had grasped her neck earlier. She didn't think anyone would notice at the moment, but it had become habit by this point.

Her hair was a mess. She ran a brush through it but the days of being at sea and in the salt and wind had taken its toll. She quickly pulled the top half back and pinned it loosely into a half bun. Satisfied that it was the best she'd be able to do, and growing bored in the stuffy air of the cabin, she donned the jacket that went with the skirt. The collar of the jacket stood high and stiff and came to a place just beneath her chin. It was a military style jacket and though she had loathed the dress Cutler had made her wear to the Admiral's gala, it had only been because it was not the place for such a garment. She was actually quite fond of long tailed coats cut in a similar fashion as those that men wore. It had something to do with her height and the fact that most women couldn't wear coats of this style without looking foolish. She pulled her hair out of the collar and let it fall down her back. She straightened her shoulders and took another look in the mirror. This was the best she could do and she was content with it. Satisfied, she left the cabin and went up on deck.

* * *

They had sailed quickly; an all encompassing shroud of mist surrounded the _Flying Dutchman_. Isabelle stared into the darkness and tried to think about everything that had happened. Cutler had planted seeds of doubt in her mind and she wondered if she and James truly were using one another. Was she using him as a crutch? Had he successfully used her as a way to elevate himself? Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots thumping on the deck.

"Miss Beckett?" Isabelle turned to face the marine that had come up behind her. He was young, and afraid.

Fear had a stench to it. It reminded her of Bedlam Asylum; the smells of filth, dirt, disease and bodily odors, as well as something else, drifted off a person who was afraid. She smiled at the boy realizing that the source of his fear came from her.

"Admiral Norrington is asking after you."

"Very well. Where might I find the Admiral?"

"He's up near the bow miss. I'll take you to him." The boy turned and began to lead her across the deck.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen ma'am." The boy was lying. He had been lying for years, so much so that he almost believed his lie himself.

"No you aren't. You don't turn eighteen for several more months yet." She said softly. The boy stopped and turned to face her. "How long have you been in the employ of the company?"

"Not long miss, only since the fort's compliment was transferred to the company." She smiled when he did not deny his young age.

"How long were you with the army?"

"Miss…"

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." Isabelle said placing a hand on his arm. "Have you no family? Won't they be worried about you?"

"They're pleased as punch for the monies I send home." The boy said. "But if truth be told, I liked the army life much better than being a Company Marine." The boy shrugged. "Things were normal in the army."

"Yes. I know what you mean." Isabelle answered with a sigh as one of Jones' crewmen stalked past. She shuddered as the man with a conch shell for a head slinked past them muttering in Portuguese. "You mustn't fear though. Things will eventually turn out right."

"Ma'am, if you don't mind my asking…."

"Go on." Isabelle prompted when the boy didn't continue.

"Why are you here?"

"Somedays I wonder that myself."

"Another question if I may." The boy said turning his back and continuing across the deck. "Men on a ship talk miss, and there's words going on about you…."

"I'm not a witch." Isabelle answered. The boy stopped again and stared at her. "You think I don't know what they think?"

"It's just that…."

"I've heard these things before. I've heard it ever since I was young and my father used to take me on voyages. He wanted me to learn the trade, to be able to help my brother. That is why I'm here." She touched the boys arm again. "Do not listen only to the tales of old salts; look around you. The world is never quite what it seems. The fantastical can be real, as proved on this very ship. The ordinary can be bent and twisted into something unreal. The world is forever what we make of it."

"Sound advice." Isabelle and the young marine turned to see James Norrington standing behind them. "Miss Beckett, a word with you if I may?"

"Of course admiral." She nodded at James and he nodded in turn at the young marine who snapped to attention and then turned smartly on his heel and left them. "What is it I can do for you?"

"It's not what you can do for me; it's what I can do for you." Isabelle looked at him, a slight crease furrowing her brow. "I'd like to apologize." Isabelle laughed.

"Apologize? What for?"

"For the way I acted before. I realize that your space is something you value. Your life can't be easy…"

"No one's life is easy. It's something I've come to understand and appreciate." She sighed as she leaned against the rail. She wished now she'd taken more time with her hair as the wind whipped it around her face. "I should apologize too." She said softly.

"What have you to apologize for?"

"I realize I shouldn't be so stubborn." She looked up at him. "I don't want to admit that Cutler is such a big problem in my life, or that anyone else should know about it. And yet I consistently turn to you. I just don't want to burden you with my problems. You have enough of your own as it is."

"Sometimes it's easier to share ones burdens." He turned and, adjusting his saber, leaned on the rail beside her. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "We both have had hard lives. I know that there were times that I wished I could have shared my problems with someone. I had hoped to find that, but then…then my life went all wrong."

"Is it still wrong?"

"I don't know anymore." James sighed. "I thought this is what I wanted. It WAS what I wanted once. But it's lost its luster now."

"Cutler has a way of doing that. He takes what should be most desirous and mutates it into something hideous."

"Has he done that to you?"

"In more ways than you'll ever know." Her voice sounded strained and James leaned forward to look into her face. "He's denied me everything I've ever wanted."

"Like what?" She was silent for sometime. "Well?"

"I'm thinking!" She snapped, but she smiled crookedly as she said it. "When I was ten he took the monkey my father had bought me for my birthday and turned it out of the house. I swore for years he killed it but he always denied it and my father blamed me for losing it." She looked up at James Norrington, her smile broadening.

"You always mock yourself." James said. "What else has he denied you besides a pet? Please, be honest with me."

"He's denied me comfort, security…suitors." She had looked away from him. "I'm not mocking myself on the last either…he told me as much."

"Why would he do such a thing? You've said in the past he wants you far from him…"

"Because though he wants me far from him he still wants to control me." Isabelle tilted her head back and closed her eyes, letting the rocking and gentle sound of the waves hitting the _Dutchman_ wash over her. "If I were married, he could no longer use me to do his bidding."

"And what does he bid of you now?" Isabelle shook her head.

"I don't think he knows that himself." She whispered into the darkness. "Except perhaps for me to be miserable at all hours of the day." James' hand lay warm upon her shoulder and she turned to face him as a tear sat heavy upon her bottom lashes. She looked away lest he see the tear fall and she quickly swiped it from her eye under the movement of swiping hair from her face.

"Would that I could help…" He said as he turned her to face him. "I think you know I would…"

"I know…I know…" She closed her eyes as his fingers brushed more of her wavy hair from her face. There was a warm feeling and she felt as if she were engulfed in low flames. She opened her eyes to see the soft orange flames flicker around James' features. It was as if he were standing beside several lanterns the glow was so soft and diffused. "Are you angry with me?" She asked suddenly.

"Angry?" James laughed softly. "Far from it…" Isabelle's breath seemed to catch in her throat and she closed her eyes again as James' fingers slipped beneath the high stiff collar of her jacket and entwined in her long hair. The heat that washed over her was a refreshing break from the chill winds that blew across the decks of the _Flying Dutchman._ Vaguely the memory of the night of the uprising washed over her. This was a similar feeling to one she had experienced then. There were many emotions washing over her.

She kept her yes closed but she knew James Norrington h ad leaned close to her, his breath was warm upon her cheek and for an instant she envisioned his lips brushing across hers. It was not to be. The decking beneath their feet heaved and the acrid stink of gun powder filled the air. Isabelle pulled away from James and looked out to where a ship, its fanlike sails silhouetted against the starry sky was under siege from the massive guns of the _Dutchman._

* * *

**_A/N: _**Sorry everyone, but this is going to have to last you for the weekend. I'm taking my comprehensive exam this weekend and won't have time to upload (or write) a new chapter. Sit tight, I'll get back on it after the weekend. 


	30. Choosing SIdes

"It's the _Empress._" Isabelle breathed, her chest still feeling tight. The decks pitched again and this time she was grabbed and swung about, shielded in the enveloping arms of James Norrington.

"Get below decks, quickly!" He said pushing her ahead of him. She dug her heels into the deck of the ship and turned to face him. "Please don't argue with me Isabelle." She was about to do just that when the _Empress_ made a vain attempt to return fire and a piece of the rail nearby shattered into a million pieces of rotting wood and mysterious sea creatures. Isabelle didn't need to be told a second time and made her way quickly across the decks where marines and Jones' crew worked side by side in shelling the unsuspecting junk. She glanced over the teaming deck to where crewmen swung onto the smaller vessel and overpowered the other crew. Fingertips dug into her shoulder and she was wrenched around painfully to gaze up into the cold dark eyes of Mr. Mercer.

"What are you doing up and about here?"

"What's going on? Why was that ship fired on?" Isabelle asked, ignoring his question.

"That is our goal, Miss Beckett, or had you forgotten what we were charged with?" Isabelle glared up at him.

"Why was it fired on without the proper orders?"

"Not now!" Mercer said flinging her in the general direction of the captain's elaborate rear cabin. She staggered in and was shocked to find several marines standing inside, their bayonets flicking in her direction.

"Miss Beckett! You startled us!" One of them sighed as he lowered his gun. "What's going on out there?"

"We caught up with the _Empress._ It would seem that Mr. Mercer and Captain Jones found it prudent to fire on it." Isabelle huffed and moved across the room to the great organ that spanned the cabin. She touched the keys lightly, the great organ pipes belching sound and blocking the dreadful screams and roars of guns that shook the air outside of the cabin. "Would that I knew how to play…" Isabelle sighed as she let her fingertips dance over the keys discordantly.

"Miss, any noise is better than what's going on outside." She glanced over her shoulder to see the young marine from earlier. His fingers were white on his musket and his eyes wide on the door to the cabin. The odor of fear blended with the smell of fish and burning whale oil which guttered in the lamps.

"You have nothing to fear. Those on the _Empress_ will fall easily. We are the superior vessel in this fight." She said softly.

"I'll believe it when I sees it miss." One of the older marines muttered. "Loosen yer grip on that musket boy. Else it'll go off in yer hand." Isabelle smiled to herself as she turned back to the organ keys. The older man was as afraid, if not more so than the young marine. He was showing a great deal of bravado because of his age and because she was in the room.

The thundering of the cannon tapered off and soon all was quiet. Mercer entered the cabin and signaled that Isabelle should follow. She did so slowly and at a discreet distance.

"Not that it's any of your business, but Captain Jones and I opened fire on the _Empress_ to expedite our mission."

"That was not your affair. You should have come to Admiral Norrington to verify the order." Isabelle said angrily.

"IF the good Admiral were in his cabin we would have."

"The _Flying Dutchman _is not so big as to prevent someone from finding a body expeditiously." Isabelle snapped. "You overstepped your bounds." Mercer whirled on her and backed her into the wall of the corridor they'd gone down.

"I did no such thing. The Admiral was unavailable, I am second in command acting in the Company's interests and the Captain will do as he is ordered by me. Is that clear?"

Isabelle didn't answer but shoved Mercer away from her. The dark thoughts the man had, the constant preaching that raced through his mind and the constant humming of the word '_witch' _that hammered in his head angered her and she acted on it. He raised his arm, prepared to strike her but he lowered it quickly. "I'll not strike a woman such as you. I'll not lower myself to that."

"His lordship does." Isabelle spat.

"Don't impugn his name with your slanderous tongue." Mercer warned, stabbing a finger in her direction. "You'll wait in your cabin until either the Admiral or I call upon you to interrogate the survivors." She stomped away from Mercer and slammed her own cabin door preventing his following her. She lit a lamp and sat in the soft glow of the cabin. Something wasn't right. There was an unease in the air but she didn't know from whence it came. She assumed it was stemming from captives being brought aboard the _Dutchman._ She sighed and went to the small table beside the door and picked up the bottle of wine that sat there. She'd had only a few glasses from it and now more than any other night she felt as if a glass of wine was exactly what she needed. She sat down at the work table she and James used occasionally for private meals and poured out a small glass of wine. It was there that James found her. She looked up from her half filled wine glass as he came through the door.

"What's wrong?" She asked standing. "Did something go wrong?"

"No…no not at all."

"Then what's troubling you?" She stood beside him as he poured out a measure of rum and knocked it back quickly. He stared at the wall for a moment and she felt compelled to touch his arm to bring his attention to her. "James? What happened on the _Empress?"_

"Nothing…nothing really."

"Then what is it you aren't telling me?" She didn't want to pry. She wanted him to tell her what had happened.

"Do you ever feel as if you're on the wrong side?" He asked after a long pause.

"Wrong side of what?"

"Of everything!" He moved away and sat heavily in the chair beside their work table. She sank into the other chair and looked at him. "Do you ever think your brother is wrong?" When she didn't answer he brought his eyes to meet hers. The look on her face said it all. "I suppose, that is a stupid and impertinent question."

"I believe my brother is wrong more than he is right." She whispered. "But he is my keeper. I can not speak ill of him."

"Do you think him capable of…murder?" She nodded silently and he sighed. "I think so too."

"What has happened James? Why these questions?"

James went on to tell her that in the bombardment of the _Empress, _the Pirate Lord Sao Feng had been killed.

"Then they have stopped the brethren court from convening. If he is dead then they won't have the nine pieces of eight to release the goddess Calypso."

"He appointed an heir with his dying breath. But that's unimportant right now." James sighed and rubbed at his face. He looked weary.

"Are you tired?"

"You have no idea…"

"It's plain on your face, I assure you, and I think I have some idea." She said smiling. "I'll leave you for now. Get some rest and we can discuss this further tomorrow."

She went up to the deck and watched as the crew of the _Dutchman _struggled to moor the _Empress_ to the _Dutchman._ It was an awkward arrangement and took them the better part of the night to accomplish. Once done they set sail over the pre-dawn gray waters.

* * *

Isabelle was called on to accompany Mercer in interrogating the pirates that had been captured the following afternoon. Most of the men only spoke Chinese and no matter how Mercer yelled or threatened to torture them they were mute.

They stared at Isabelle though, dark eyes boring into her very being. Some were scared, the pungent aroma of fear blending with that of bad hygiene. Others were angry and resolved to stand by their captain, whoever that man was at this time. Some were just curious.

Women were bad luck on the open sea, with very few exceptions. Now they suddenly found themselves under the captaincy of one woman, who seemed brave and competent enough, and in the presence of another aboard a completely different ship. Isabelle didn't understand Chinese well but she thought the general gist of what they might be wondering was the direction in which the world was headed.

Isabelle sat on a low table and picked a piece of lint from her bright calico dress. It showed blue and green birds flying amongst red and green flowers. She let her mind wander while Mercer ruthlessly struck one of the prisoners. She didn't want to be here in body, so she let her mind and spirit wander. It was a two fold benefit; she was detached from the violence being visited upon the men and she could not tell Mercer much of anything.

One man, who named him self as Tai Huang, spoke stilted English. As Isabelle watched the filthy man sitting before her she felt as if she had seen him before.

"I've seen you before, have I not?" She asked, interrupting Mercer's line of questions.

"Unless you have been to Singapore, I highly doubt we've had the honor of meeting."

_Singapore!_ He'd been one of the pirates who had met Isabelle at the quayside when Isabelle had dreamt of her. He had seen Elizabeth!

"You know Elizabeth Swann then…"

"_Captain _Swann." The man said raising his head. Suddenly much of what the curious pirates had been thinking made sense. Isabelle looked at Mercer.

"Is what he says true?"

"See for yourself?" Mercer pushed open the solid wooden door that had separated the brig from the inquisition room. Sure enough, slouched against the mast support that went through the center of the brig sat Elizabeth Swann.

"Are you and the Captain friends?" Tai Huang asked.

"Of sorts…" Mercer glowered at her and cleared his throat as he slammed the door on the outer room.

"Back to my line of questioning….where were you headed under your previous captain?" Tai Huang refused to answer the questions Mercer posed to him. Mercer signaled a marine to escort the man out. Before he crossed the threshold he turned and faced Isabelle.

"Have you a message, for my captain?"

"No, not at this time." Isabelle shivered as the door shut and locked her and Mercer in the damp of the inquisition cell.

"Is he lying?" Mercer asked.

"Of course he is. He knows where the court is meeting, but he will not take us there. It is safer if we sail about out here chasing our rudders. These men were loyal to Sao Feng and understood the importance of their lord. He named Elizabeth as his second and ,though they do not quite trust her, all will stand by her because she stands by them."

"Is there any way to breed dissent amongst them?" Mercer asked thoughtfully. Isabelle knew that by paying one or two of the men off they would in fact be able to bribe them into turning against Elizabeth and the other pirates, but she was unwilling to say that to this dark man.

"I don't think there is. They are quite strong in their beliefs."

"Mr. Andrews, please escort Miss Beckett back to her cabin…"

"Aren't you going to interrogate Miss Swann?"

"She will know nothing. She is only newly a captain and has little knowledge of the seas." Mercer turned his cold, dark eyes on her. _Eyes like an abyss_ Isabelle thought. "Even if she were a man and not a foolish woman she would not have information of use to us."

* * *

Isabelle paced in her cabin as she shared what she knew with James.

"Why didn't you tell me Elizabeth was on board?" Isabelle whispered as she clasped and unclasped her hands. "Why is she not kept in here?"

"I offered her up my cabin---our cabin—when we took them all in." James said. "She refused."

"No wonder her crew has a new found respect for her." Isabelle whispered. "They'd ordinarily not follow a woman, it isn't in their culture. They believe women are weak and to be used as tools to elevate their own social standing. But they respect Elizabeth and what she stands for. She's earned their respect by not taking the easy way out."

"She hates me." James said suddenly. "She thinks I had something to do with the death of her father."

"What?" Isabelle stopped pacing and sat heavily in the chair beside James.

"Governor Swann is dead."

"What? When?—How?" Isabelle bombarded the Admiral with questions, not giving him the chance to answer.

"I don't know."

"She must be mistaken…."

"Is she? He was not aboard the _Endeavor_ when last we met with them." James interrupted.

"He might have been in his cabin…"Isabelle tried to justify. In her heart though she knew that the governor was indeed dead.

"Isabelle, I asked after the governor when you were speaking with your brother…he was no longer aboard the _Endeavor._ Some men said he disappeared in the night, others had been told that he was sent as an ambassador to England."

"Why would a governor be sent as an ambassador---" Isabelle trailed off. She didn't need to ask the rest of the question because she had already answered it. "My god…"

"Your brother has made a fine mess of things." James said suddenly.

"I thank God more and more each day that I am adopted." Isabelle muttered.

They were silent for some time. Isabelle finally reached across the table and grasped James' sleeve. The rough gold braid and the soft wool were at odds beneath her fingertips. Much like what James was feeling in his heart at the moment.

"I think your brother killed the governor because he knew too much." James whispered. "I also think he is capable of doing much wrong before this is all over."

"Cutler is titled and has the ear of the investors and the King. There's nothing we can do. We'll never be able to stand up against him."

"There is." James said finally. "We can choose sides." He grasped her hand where it still rested against his arm.

"If it isn't too late…"

"I have to try." He rose quickly and left their cabin leaving Isabelle in the shallow light of the single lantern. What had he meant about choosing sides? That part perplexed her. Had her brother not already chosen their sides for them?

Then she began to feel something akin to an ember ignite within her. She had wanted to stand up to Cutler and fight him for some time now. How better to do it than to switch sides? Quickly she rose from her seat and went out into the dark corridor. She raced into the open air of the dock and looked around. Several marines and Jones' crewmen were lying about in the darkness. It was a calm night and there was no need to set up a serious watch. Their mission had been accomplished and the _Empress _loomed in the darkness being towed behind the _Dutchman. _Where had Admiral Norrington gone?

IN the darkness she was drawn to the rail. She could see little in the pitch black and the mist on the deck of the _Flying Dutchman _but she could hear things; mutterings in whispered Chinese and the sound of feet treading upon damp wood.

She had to lean out beside one of the spires at the rear of the ship and could just see down to the weather deck at the stern. It was fairly isolated, Isabelle knew. No wonder James Norrington had chosen to use it as a means of escape for the crew of the _Empress._

In the darkness she could just make out small black dots crawling across the mooring lines to the other ship. Her attention was drawn to the lower balcony by James' voice.

"Do not go to Shipwreck Cove. Beckett knows of the meeting of the Brethren Court. I fear there may be a traitor among them."

"It's too late to earn my forgiveness." Elizabeth said coldly. James had been right, Elizabeth was angry with him. She thought he had something to do with her father's death. Isabelle understood her plight. Elizabeth Swann was an orphan in the world now.

"I had nothing to do with your father's death." James hissed back at her. "But that does not absolve me of my other sins."

Isabelle looked around and saw a shadow move in the darkness down the port access way to the lower balcony. She had to warn them! But how….

She looked down at Elizabeth and insinuated herself into the younger woman's mind.

"_You might hate the man, but he has done much for you. He still feels for you…." _Isabelle whispered to Elizabeth. _"Invite him to follow you._"

"Come with us." Isabelle sighed. Elizabeth had gotten the message. "James, come with me." She repeated.

"Who goes there?" The voice rang out below Isabelle and she stepped back from the rail lest she be seen. In doing so, she broke her thin connection to Elizabeth.

"Go, I will follow." She heard James say as she pressed herself against the damp wood at the stern of the ship.

"You're lying!" Elizabeth said, her voice rich with indignation.

"Our destinies have been entwined Elizabeth, but never joined." There was silence then and Isabelle, hoping that one or both of them had gotten off the ship chanced to look back down at the lower balcony. What she saw was not what she had expected.

James had leaned in and was now kissing Elizabeth Swann. Isabelle's heart caught in her chest. She had felt heartbreak before, in others, but never had she felt it as acutely as she did now. It was not her heart imitating or feeling the heartbreak of another. This was her own heart breaking on its own accord. How could she have thought that James Norrington could have loved her? Why would he fall for her, an old maid by all accounts, when he still desired to give his heart to the brave, lovely and vivacious Elizabeth Swann? Isabelle sank back to the dark wood and pressed her hand to her mouth. She wanted to cry or to scream! This was no time to be a nitwit of a girl suffering a broken heart though. She had to do something….

"Back to your station sailor!" She heard James say. Isabelle opened her eyes and looked up to see where the mooring line was pulled through one of the great block pulleys of the _Flying Dutchman_. The weathered line slipped down and was wrapped around and ancient looking belaying pin stuck into a hole in the side of the ship. She looked down to see where James was pointing his saber at the chest of one of Jones' monstrous crewmen. The man began to mutter incoherently and, acting fast, Isabelle raced to the pin that held the port ropes and quickly slipped the heavy line from its pin.

"All hands! Prisoner escape!" She heard the crewman yell.

She heard Elizabeth's high voice shriek in the darkness. A pit formed in Isabelle's stomach as a feeling of intense dread threatened to bring her to her knees. For months now she had been falling in love with James Norrington. She realized that now, and for the first time she associated the word _love_ with James Norrington's name.

It would also be the last.

She understood now that he cared for her as a friend only. Perhaps it was even just pity that he felt. She would have to believe that if her plan worked half as well as she hoped it might.

She would not allow James Norrington to be brought before her brother as a traitor. She would not allow him to be tried as aiding pirates. She would not allow him to die at the hands of the crew of the _Flying Dutchman._

If she could do nothing more, she would see that he made it off the _Flying Dutchman._

Reaching her original post she saw James looking back towards the dot that was Elizabeth Swann, clinging to the mooring line. It looked as if she were trying to scramble back towards the _Dutchman._

_No, you foolish girl! _Isabelle thought.

James raised his pistol towards the ropes still securing the _Empress _to the _Dutchman._ Realizing that he intended to keep Elizabeth from returning to him, Isabelle knew that she had but one chance. She lifted the belaying pin from it's spot on the rail and watched as the pulley began to sag and sink to the spot where James stood.

She watched, stunned, as the events unfolded before her eyes. The tension coming from the towed ship tugged the pulley and belaying pin towards James with incredible force. He did not notice, he was busy looking at Elizabeth suspended half way between the _Flying Dutchman _and the _Empress. _The belaying pin went past him and just as he fired up into the slackening ropes, the pulley hit him against the side of his head. Isabelle wanted to cry out but was so terrified she could not find her voice. She felt as if she were in one of her visions, not believing that she could possibly be standing here allowing this to happen. She found it even harder to believe that she could have participated in it. The force of the pulley striking him off balanced James and he dropped his saber to the decking. Isabelle watched, gut sick, as Admiral Norrington toppled into the dark waters below like a rag doll tossed by a child.

"James! NO!" Isabelle sank silently to her knees when she heard Elizabeth's terrified screams coming from the water below. She closed her eyes and tried to banish what she'd just seen from her mind. Over and over the same thought bounded through her terrified brain, unable to focus on anything else.

_What have I done? My god…what have I done? _

_

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for being so patient. My exams ate my soul last weekend. So I'm a little behind where I really wanted to be. Thanks again and have a great weekend!_


	31. Loss

_I've killed the Admiral…._

Her stomach threatened to heave and she thought she'd be ill then and there. She could not breathe--a fact for which she was thankful when Jones and half his crew stormed onto the lower balcony.

"What's the meaning of this?" One of the creatures growled at the one who had given away the escape.

"The Admiral's escaped."

"The Admiral's escaped?" The words swept around the gathered crewmen like a round in a song until all realized the import of what had occurred.

"To the Captain's Cabin!" Isabelle suddenly found her legs and leapt up, sprinting across the deck and down towards the captain's cabin ahead of the _Dutchman's _crew.

"Mr. Mercer!" She shouted as she burst through the door. "We have a problem!"

"Problem?" The man glanced up form where he'd been writing a report at the small desk beside where the chest with the heart sat.

"The Admiral has gone overboard; the crew of the _Dutchman _believes that Jones is now in full command of the ship." She said in a rush, fear catching the better of her. Suddenly gunfire erupted outside and Mr. Mercer rose and came towards her. He pulled her away from the doors and with a wave of his hand distributed the marines in the room into a protective fan around the chest.

"Stand behind them." Mercer said gruffly, shoving Isabelle behind the marines. Isabelle did as she was told. Some held pistols and knelt, others held muskets and stood. She leaned against one of the vaulted ribs of the interior of the ship as one of the marines came to stand before her.

"Don't worry miss, I'll protect you." Isabelle looked at the young marine. She could not smile, her heart beat so fast in her chest. The sound of her own heart pounded in her ears beating a fast staccato to the heavy and slow bass beat of the heart in the chest partway across the room. Four crewmen burst through the door but did not advance seeing the level of firepower aimed at them. Jones entered shortly after. Isabelle gasped when she saw that he held the Admiral's sword, the fine blade shimmering in the dim light of the cabin.  
"The _Dutchman _is under _MY _command." Mercer drawled as he held the key to the chest. Jones' eyes swept over the room until he saw Isabelle in the corner. The young marine before her gripped his gun tighter and stared back at the terrifying captain who towered in the doorway.

"For now." Jones ground out as he stomped from the room. Isabelle hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until she exhaled and took another shuddering breath.

"What hand did you have in this?" Mercer growled, turning towards Isabelle.

"I had no hand in it." Her voice sounded thin and she cleared her throat.

"You three, go down and see that the prisoners are safe, especially Miss Swann." The three men Mercer had signaled to, jogged from the room, their muskets and cartridge boxes clicking softly.

"They won't find them." Isabelle said, finally finding her voice. "The admiral was helping them escape when he went over."

"What?!" Isabelle flinched as Mercer's anger engulfed her.

"You heard what I said. Admiral Norrington was helping Captain Swann and her crew escape when he went over."

"You saw it and did not raise the alarm? You saw it and let it happen?" He closed the distance between them and thrust the young marine from in front of Isabelle. The boy went skidding across the floor and his musket discharged, blowing a hole in one of the big organ pipes. Mercer and Isabelle both ignored it. The dark eyed mercenary towered over Isabelle and both glared at one another, neither planning to back down.

"I arrived only after the crew had left. The Admiral went over when the ropes released and he was knocked into the drink by one of the blocks."

"I don't believe you." Mercer whispered, his eyes narrowing.

"You don't have much of a choice in this matter. If I had any part in this, do you think I'd have come running to you to warn of the danger?"

"Aye, I do. I think you would have come scampering here because you knew that in the confusion I'd protect you." He smiled coldly at her. "You know I'll keep you alive so that your brother can enjoy interrogating you."

"I think I'd have rather risked a swim than to allow that to happen." Isabelle said trying to act brave but feeling her knees quiver beneath her.

"Well then, you should have jumped when you had the chance…."

* * *

Isabelle sat in a chair in Captain Jones' cabin and stared at the chest as if she hoped her gaze might set it on fire. Several of the marines glanced over their shoulders at her nervously but went back to standing guard. She was tired, having not slept at all. She was also cranky, knowing that the _Flying Dutchman_ was sailing fast in the direction of Cutler and the _Endeavor._

She withdrew her angry gaze from the chest and instead let her mind wander.

_Where was Jack in all this and what was going on?_

She closed her eyes and cast her thoughts out letting them race from the stuffy cabin to burst out across the open seas. Isabelle latched on to his consciousness and watched as the crew of the _Black Pearl _labored in the bright sunlight. Jack's kohl black eyes gazed across the teaming deck to where Barbosa and the dark skinned woman seemed to be having an argument. Jack and Isabelle both watched as the woman tried to walk away from Barbosa but was not able to get far. Barbosa latched onto the woman's arm and brought her back to face him. He called out to two sailors and Isabelle gasped as she recognized the tall gangly and slightly stupid looking one from one of her visions. The tall pirate and his shorter friend--the belligerent hermonculous as Jack had called him—escorted the woman down the decks presumably to the hold. Isabelle watched as the woman held her head high and descended like a queen into what was undoubtedly her incarceration. _I hope I look that grand and brave when my time comes. _Isabelle thought briefly.

Isabelle was pulled from her vision when someone spoke to her.

"Here miss, I brought you some food." Isabelle opened her eyes and looked up at the young marine from before. He had taken his oath to protect her quite seriously.

"Thank you." She took the tin plate with its one moldy looking biscuit and a piece of briny salt pork. It didn't look at all appetizing. She set the plate in her lap and picked at the biscuit, figuring that to be the lesser of two evils. "What is your name?"

"Adam ma'am. Adam Monroe." He said with a slight bow.

"Adam Monroe, I'm about to tell you something that might wound you deeply." Isabelle said as she slowly chewed on the hard biscuit. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, so understand me—what I'm about to tell you is for your own good."

"Ma'am?" The boy looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.

"You need to stop being so nice to me." Isabelle looked away. "It will go much better for you if you distance yourself from me in the days to come."

"Begging your pardon, Miss Beckett, but I swore to protect you. I'll not back out on you now."

"Mr. Monroe, my brother, his Lordship, is a man who is not to be trifled with." Isabelle looked back, her green eyes drilling into the brown doe eyes of the underage marine. "Believe it or not I have crossed him. I will be punished and any who stand on my side will be condemned to the same fate."

"Condemned?"

"Yes, you'll more than likely be clapped in irons, your pay will be forfeit, any you have coming to you will be seized. You and your family will suffer greatly. I am thankful for your protection, but I can not allow you to endanger yourself on my behalf. Now—it's time for you to be on the watch of that wretched heart." Adam opened his mouth as if he were thinking of saying something but then closed it again and trudged over to where the other marines stood clustered around the chest. He tapped an older marine on the shoulder and the man went to get some sleep in the corner of the cabin. Adam gave one look back at Isabelle and then fell in beside his older comrades, who hadn't given Isabelle a moment's notice since she'd come barging into the Captain's Cabin the evening before.

* * *

As night fell they came within sight of the _Endeavor._ Isabelle was roughly hauled to her feet and dragged out on deck to a waiting lifeboat.

"You leave Captain Jones in charge of the _Dutchman?"_ Isabelle asked Mercer as he escorted her roughly to the rail. "That doesn't seem to be a very smart decision." She glanced up to the helm where Jones stood beside his bosun.

"He's not staying ….he'll meet us aboard the _Endeavor._" Isabelle looked at the small boat being lowered into the sea beside them.

"May I not change before we go across---clean myself up?"

"No, you may not. Until otherwise decided, you are a suspect in the escape of the crew of the _Empress._" Isabelle wrenched her arm from Mercer's grasp and glowered at him.

"How dare you suspect me of assisting in that!"

"You have a history." Mercer said cruelly, leering at her. Several of the marines stood around and watched. Isabelle looked as if she wanted to push Mercer over the side, or perhaps like she wanted to strike him, or perhaps she merely wanted to run. Most of the soldiers were surprised to hear that she had a history with pirates. They never would have suspected that a woman of such obvious breeding would be connected with two previous escapes from captivity.

Isabelle sat in the small boat and stared stonily at the back of the head of the marine before her. Adam Monroe had stayed aboard the _Dutchman_ and for that she was glad. She didn't want him to be nearby should Cutler's anger get the better of him.

The row to the ship was quiet. The silence around Isabelle felt as a great weight and she felt almost suffocated by it. The ever constant bank of fog that traveled with the _Dutchman_ did not help matters, the unnatural air pressed down around them making the atmosphere ominous, dark and miserable.

Isabelle climbed over the rail and tried to smooth her skirts down. She looked around the decks of the _Endeavor _and saw two men hauling something from the sea. Her arm was grasped tightly by Mercer and he dragged her towards Cutler's cabin. Isabelle struggled against him and tried to remove her arm from his grasp. She would not be hauled before her brother as a prisoner. Her indignant thoughts were interrupted and she stifled a shriek as they passed by a stack of bodies clad in East India colors. She tripped over one of the dead men's extended hands and only then did she realize that the men on the opposite side of the deck were pulling another hapless victim from the sea. _What was going on here?_

Isabelle and Mercer stood in the corridor and listened to the conversation within her brother's cabin.

"Is Jones here?" Mercer asked as an officer came out of her brother's cabin and towards them in the narrow hall.

"Arrived not a second ago, sir." The marine said, rubbing his shoulder. Mercer nodded, but Isabelle's attentions were focused within the cabin.

"I cannot be summoned like some mongrel pup!" Jones growled.

"Apparently you can. I believe you know each other?" Cutler's voice was as smooth as polished glass Jones' laughed filled the air and Isabelle shivered in spite of the lanterns that shed their light and heat into the narrow passage way.

"Come to join my crew again, Master Turner?" Isabelle's head began to spin. _What was William Turner doing aboard the _Endeavor_ and what was _his _part in all this?_

"Not yours. His." Isabelle was confused. Now she wondered why Turner would choose to align with her brother when his fiancée was so strongly aligned with Jack. "Jack Sparrow sends his regards."  
"Sparrow?" Jones asked. Isabelle's eyes raced around the corridor as she took in what she was hearing. Jones never knew that Jack had returned. James had, Cutler had, but no one had bothered to tell Jones that his most prized soul had escaped from the Locker. Why had she known that Jack had escaped but Jones hadn't?

"You didn't tell him?" There was a beat. "We rescued Jack Sparrow from the locker along with the _Black Pearl._"

"What else have you not told me?" Isabelle found it hard to breathe as the ambient air temperature in the corridor began to rise.

"There is an issue far more troublesome." Cutler said smoothly. "I believe you're familiar with a person called Claypso?"

"Not a person, a heathen god. One who delights in cursing men with their wildest dreams and then revealing them to be hollow and naught but ash." Jones was bitter. "The world is well rid of her."

"Not quite so well actually. The brethren court intends to release her."

"No! they cannot! The first court promised to imprison her forever! That was our agreement!" Isabelle felt sweat begin to slide across her scalp and down her neck. She would have fled had Mercer not held her fast.

"Yours?" Cutler drawled softly.

"I showed them how to bind her she could not be trusted." The sound of Jones' peg leg stamped softly across the floor. He was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken and he tried to redirect it. "I...she gave me no choice! We must act before they release her."

Isabelle's mind was suddenly flooded with several images. Mercer watched as her eyes went silver. He wanted to back away but felt compelled to watch on.

Isabelle first saw a man take control of a fine looking ship, bidding farewell to a shadowy figure on a beach. His heart was full of love and the sweet strains of a music box floated across the surf from where a small boat took him to his ship and away from his love. She too had a matching music box and the songs played together.

She saw again what she now knew was the first Brethren Court and saw the dark skinned woman appear out of thin air.

She was pulled from the Brethren Court to the decks of the _Black Pearl._ Jack circled Jones and rambled at the monstrous captain…._"Have you not met Will Turner? He's noble, heroic, terrific soprano. Worth at least four... maybe three and a half. And did I happen to mention... he's in love. With a girl. Due to be married. Betrothed. Dividing him from her and her from him... would only be half as cruel as actually allowing them be joined in holy matrimony. Aye?"_

She was then taken to the decrepit shack in the middle of a dark and foggy bayou. The voo doo priestess inside rattled fish bones in her hand and looked at the pirates congregated about. Jack was present as were several others of his most trusted _Pearl _crew. She saw a silver locket with a face and crab claws, and then saw a matching pendant lying on the ledge of the organ in Jones' cabin.

"_That which tempts all man…a woman! Him fell in love!"_

"_a woman, as changing, and harsh, and untamable as the sea. Him never stopped loving her. But the pain it cause 'im was too much to live wid. But not enough to cause him to die."_

Things were falling into place. Her eyes returned to their natural dark color and she was instantly engulfed in the heat of the hallway and a slight trace of fear lacing the air. She glanced over at Mercer and almost smiled. The fear was plain to see in his eyes.

"You loved her." Apparently things had also fallen into place for William Turner. "She's the one. And then you betrayed her." There was shock and disappointment in the young man's voice.

"She _pretended_ to love me!" Jones said trying to justify himself. "She betrayed me!"

"And after which betrayal did you cut out your heart I wonder?" Isabelle felt the anger rolling off of Jones. She heard the sound of china breaking and then Jones whisper, ominously low.

"Don't test me!" In the silence that followed there was shuddering burst of heat and Isabelle sagged beneath the press of it.

"Oh no you don't…" Mercer snarled, hauling her back up to her feet.

"You will free my father and you will guarantee Elizabeth's safety, along with my own." Turner announced.

"Your terms are steep, Mr. Turner." We will expect fair value in return." _Always the businessman_. Isabelle thought as her brother spoke.

"There is only one price I will accept: Calpyso murdered!" Jones shot back.

"Calypso is aboard the _Black Pearl_." Turner said easily. "Jack has sailed the _Black Pearl_ to Shipwreck Cove." Mercer took that moment to march Isabelle into the doorway of the cabin. Jones' back was to her, William Turner stood beside the large globe and Cutler stood beyond the tea table. Cutler glared at her briefly before turning his attention to the matter at hand.

"And with you no longer aboard her how do you propose to lead us there?" Turner glanced at Isabelle, at Jones, at Mercer and at Cutler, his eyes sweeping the room, his thoughts sweeping his options. Isabelle saw his hand drift to his side to where a black and gold compass hung from his belt.

"What is it you want most?" Turner asked.

"No!" Isabelle shouted. She didn't know why she was so against finding Jack, but she knew in her heart of hearts that the outcome would not be good.

"Mr. Jones, escort Mr. Turner to the helm with our heading. The _Flying Dutchman_ will follow along. Mr. Edwards, have Mr. Morganstern signal the other ships to follow as well." William Turner's eyes locked on hers for a moment as Mercer held her fast. He looked as if he wanted to stop; wanted to question her. "Mr. Turner, we haven't got all day…"

Turner and Jones left the room and Isabelle was left with Mercer and Cutler.

"Isabelle. Quite the outburst…I can't begin to understand the reasoning for that." Cutler said smoothly taking a sip of tea.

"You already know, I'm sure." Isabelle answered, breaking free of Mercer. "You know very well why."

"You're afraid I'll catch up to all the hostages you've set free over the years. My but I am a fool for believing you all this time."

"Lies? You always accuse me of lies!" Isabelle raged. "Even when I tell you the truth, you second guess me!"

"Tell me now, honestly. Did you release Jack all those years ago?"

"No! I've told you…." For a moment Isabelle had thought of being honest, but she'd been telling the lie for over a decade and it slipped across her lips as easy as if it were the truth.

"LYING!" Cutler raged as he stomped towards her. Isabelle evaded him and put a work table between them. "What about Elizabeth Swann?"

"That was her father. I had no hand in it."

"But you let it happen? You were an accomplice!" Isabelle said nothing. Her guilt was stamped deep within Cutler's mind. She had been guilty of helping Jack escape, yes. But she would not admit it now. She would not tell him how she encouraged Elizabeth to leave the coach before arriving at the waterfront. She would not tell him of her hand in killing Admiral Norrington and allowing the crew of the _Empress_ to escape. "And what's this Mr. Mercer reported?" Cutler picked up a sheaf of papers and flipped through them looking for the page he desired. "Elizabeth Swann, newly made captain of Sao Feng's ship _Empress_ was sprung from the _Flying Dutchman's _brig in the dark of night and was quit of said ship. Admiral Norrington was unfortunately lost in the event and was not recovered in the ensuing confusion over the question of command." Cutler glared up at her. "I wonder, shall we add a third jail break to your record?"

"I had no hand in it."

"You seem to have a hand in very little, Isabelle. Did you witness it and fail to raise the alarm?"

"There was no time…."

"You are an ACCOMPLIS!!!!!" Cutler shouted, spit flying from his lips—flame flying from his being. Isabelle flinched. Cutler raced around the table and Isabelle moved putting more space between them. She didn't dare turn her back on him. "I've sheltered you, fed you, clothed you and this is the thanks I get? My father makes you a part of this family, gives you his name—his _NAME_—and this is the thanks he gets?" Isabelle squeaked involuntarily as Mercer's talon like grip pinched into the flesh of her arms. She had been so concentrated on Cutler that she'd forgotten about Mercer. "I'm tired of giving Isabelle. I'm tired of your ungratefulness…I'm divorcing you of this family."

"You can't…"

"I think you'll find I can, actually. I am Lord Beckett now. I have the authority to do what I will. I will not have an ungrateful wretch of a woman in my family. I especially will not have one that associates and aides piracy and crime." He went behind his desk and signed a document that lay there. He looked up when he was done and laced his fingers together before him. "You are no longer Isabelle Beckett. You will take on some other name, the one you were born with no doubt. No longer do the privileges of the realm apply to you."

"What privileges?" Isabelle spat, she was upset, she felt as if she wanted to cry, but anger was the more dominant emotion at this point and really all she wanted to do was to come across the cabin and slap Lord Beckett for all she was worth. "You have treated me like dirt for the past six years! Ever since our father died…."

"_MY _FATHER DIED!" Cutler raged. He slammed his hands onto his desk and rose quickly. "He never should have taken a beggar wench the likes of you in."

"I never asked to work for Lord Andrew Beckett." Isabelle said, glaring at Cutler. "He took me in. He knew that even as a child I could do more for him than you EVER could!"

Cutler crossed the cabin quickly and struck her across the face. She would have fallen to the ground had not Mercer had a fierce hold on her. Cutler's eyes bore into her, his mouth pinched and his whole body seemed to shudder with the force of his rage. Suddenly he looked down at her gown and a smirk slowly spread across his face.

"Is that Calico you're wearing?" Isabelle was taken aback. First he rails at her for his father choosing to employ her and then he asks about her wardrobe. "Answer me."

"I suppose it is…"

"Mr. Mercer, remove that garment from her."

"You wouldn't dare!" Isabelle struggled against Mercer.

"I can and will. Calico is a banned import."

"I had this dress before the embargo! I can wear it if I like."

"A waif like you could not afford the tax. You are no longer privileged remember?"

"Mr. Mercer need not disrobe me. I'll do it myself." She did not budge though.

"I'm waiting." Cutler growled.

"I'll remove it when I'm back aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ and can put on a simpler gown. I'd be happy to do it here if a dress can be procured…."

"You'll remove that dress now. Everything you own belongs to me."

"What?!" Isabelle's voice was thin, barely above a high, piercing whisper, her shock was so great. Mercer's hands were suddenly at the collar of her gown and with a swift pull he split the seams and had the bodice half off of her. She shrieked and struggled against him. "Stop it!"

Two marines appeared at the door to the cabin and looked in at the scene unfolding before them. Isabelle was half divested of her bodice and she was struggling violently against Mr. Mercer. The two marines looked to Lord Beckett.

"Get out. You're not needed in this." Beckett ordered.

"But sir…."

"OUT!!!"

Isabelle managed to free a hand and slapped Mercer as hard as she could. The man stepped away from her and clutched his stinging cheek.

"I hate you…"Isabelle snarled. "I hate you both…" She wanted to cry. She felt humiliated and terrified, but still the anger sat above it all, as oil above water.

"I don't care." Cutler said. "It brings me no heartache…no sorrow. You are nothing." His face creased with a slow, evil smile. "Remove the rest of that garment."

Isabelle set her jaw and locked eyes with his. Slowly, and with sharp, angry motions, she untied the waist of her skirt and let it drop to the floor. She shivered in the chill air coming in through the windows but maintained her glare. Clad only in her shift, light corset and petticoats she was sure she looked quite the fool.

"Isabelle Beck…." Cutler stated in his best official voice but cut himself off abruptly. "Well you aren't a Beckett anymore now are you? Oh dear. Do you remember your last name from before?"

"No."

"Oh well then—Isabelle, you have been convicted of the association and aiding of known pirates. You are also suspected of murder."

"Murder!?!" Isabelle gasped.

"Admiral NOrrington. Since you witnessed the crime, and his body was not recovered, one can only assume you had a hand in his demise." He smiled. "But I suppose you'll say you had no hand in that as well."

Isabelle looked at the floorboards. She wasn't sure if the Admiral was alive or dead. She hadn't intended the block to hit him as it did. She didn't know if he'd been able to swim to the _Empress_ or if he had fallen unconscious and drowned. Part of her hoped that he had survived, but the greater part of her suspected that he had died. Her thoughts were pulled from James' fate as Cutler began to prescribe hers.

"Since many of these offenses are without evidence and only based on conjecture I will be lenient. You will be punished under the laws that were established during the time of your crimes."

"How merciful of you indeed…" Isabelle muttered.

"Gentlemen!" Two marines, different from the ones before, came in carrying a brazier of hot coals into the room. The tray contained the Company Brand.

"No…" Gone was the anger. She felt as if she had been plunged into an ice bath the fear was so sharp within her.

"Sir?" One of the marines looked to Lord Beckett for orders.

"If you gentlemen are squeamish, I'd suggest leaving." Mercer growled at them as he latched onto her arms. Both men scrambled from the room with a half rendered salute to Lord Beckett.

"I will indeed be merciful Isabelle. I will not brand you as others were. I will brand you where no one will see it. I want you to remember your crimes…." He came forward and slipped a heavy manacle around her wrist and drew the chain to a hook in the wall that stretched her arms high above her head. "Mr. Mercer, take her feet…."

"No! No!" Isabelle tried to kick with her feet but found it useless. Mercer latched onto her ankles and held fast. Cutler took up a short knife and quickly slashed up the side of her calf length petticoats. "Don't do this…."Isabelle had started to sob. "Don't do this…."

"It must be done…." Cutler reached for the glowing brand, and, ensuring that it was indeed red hot, carried it to the place where Isabelle was completely trussed. "I will be quick with it, I assure you…." Isabelle gave one last futile attempt at kicking out, but Mercer's grip was firm. Cutler parted her ruined petticoat with his left hand and with his right drove the brand into the soft flesh above her left knee. A scream pierced the air and mixed with the arid aroma of burning flesh. It took Isabelle quite a bit of time to realize that the scream had come from her.

* * *

_**A/N: **So where is this going? Things are clicking along now. I hope you readers aren't going to be disappointed with where I plan on taking this. I only ask that you be patient and follow along. :-D_

_I promise, it's getting good!_


	32. A Light in the Dark

_**A/N: **Wow! so many great responses and reviews! Makes my crappy week so much better! I'm glad so many of you are enjoying my brain baby. I hope you continue to make my mailbox and I happy and keep on reviewing! Enjoy!_

* * *

Isabelle slumped against the chains that bound her, slipping into blissful, pain induced unconsciousness. She only came round when a thorough dousing of cold water pulled her from it. She coughed and spluttered and tried to stand, a raging fire in her left knee preventing her from doing so.

"I told you it would be quick." Cutler said caressing her cheek. "If only you could have been the good sister…" Isabelle spat at him. Cutler wiped the spittle from his face with a kerchief pulled with a flourish from his pocket. "I see it takes no time at all to go back to your gutter mongering ways."

"Rot in hell." Isabelle whispered. Cutler's eyes were filled with barely concealed anger.

"You will remember to speak to me with the proper deference. I am your better. Not only because I am a man, but because I am a peer of the realm."

"I don't care if you were the bastard son of Bonny Prince Charlie! I hate you!"

"You insult me and the monarchy in one breath?" Cutler's eyes darkened.

"Blasphemous witch!" Mercer growled.

"Arrest her for slander, Mr. Mercer." Cutler said grinning. "You will go back to the _Dutchman_ and await further sentencing."

"The _Dutchman? _Why send me there? Why not incarcerate me here where you can further enjoy abusing me?" Isabelle raged, struggling against the chains.

"I don't want the marines here feeling sorry for you, as surely they will. Jones' crew of miscreants won't give a damn about you."

"As you wish it. _My lord…_" Isabelle said half sinking in a mock curtsey even though her hands were still chained above her head. Mercer came over and unhooked the chain from above her head and she collapsed to the floor.

"Mr. Mercer, take her back to the _Dutchman._"

"Do you think, my lord, that she should be given a coat of some sort? The men might get the wrong idea seeing her in this state." Mercer muttered looking down at her wearing nothing but her torn petticoats, light undershift and corset.

"How compassionate, Mr. Mercer." Cutler turned from where Isabelle still sat on the floor of the cabin and went to the door. "Bring me a coat. Nothing fancy." The marine disappeared up the hallway and returned with a uniform coat. Cutler handed it to Mercer who draped it over Isabelle's shoulders.

"Ugh…it smells awful!" Isabelle said trying to get her nose far away from the wool of the coat.

"It must have had a dead man in it. Can't let good Company materials go to waste." Mercer hauled her to her feet, her hands still shackled before her and half dragged her to the door.

"You won't get away with this!" Isabelle shouted as she was hauled from the room. "I swear to you!"

"It appears I already have." The last sight she had of Cutler was his taking a satisfied sip of tea and smiling a catlike grin over the edge of the cup at her.

When she was brought above decks, several of the marines looked up from where they'd been lounging by the cannon. Some of the officers, the gold braid glittering in the lantern light looked up from the maps and charts and stared as Mercer escorted her across the deck. There was nothing she could do. Her knee pained her greatly and though she wanted to embarrass Cutler, she did not want to embarrass herself in the process. She thought briefly to the dark skinned woman on the _Black Pearl _and how she had been lead to her incarceration.

_Head up, eyes strong. You are innocent, incorrectly accused by a madman and his help. Dare them to question you, prove that you are above all of this._

Isabelle tilted her head up and walked as if she were being escorted to an audience with the King and Queen and not to a dank cell aboard Captain Jones' hellish ship. She saw William Turner standing beside the helm, black compass in hand. He glanced her way, taking in her disheveled appearance.

* * *

To Turner, the woman who had been brought to the cabin had been vehemently against his use of the compass. She had since been divested of the vibrant calico dress she'd been wearing, her hair hung in her face, the tangled blonde locks hanging in limp waves over her shoulders and the blue coat that hung over her shoulders was more than likely the one that had just been stripped from one of the Marines that were laid in a pile on the deck. She was walking with a pronounced limp and Turner saw that there was blood slipping across the muscles of her left calf. She held her head high, with a certain amount of pride and cockiness. She was not defeated yet. He watched as Mercer helped her over the rail, if a little roughly. She paused on the ladder and locked eyes with his. Will shivered involuntarily. He felt as if he should know this woman. He wished there was some way to help her….

* * *

Isabelle sat in the boat and stared at the marines rowing back to the _Flying Dutchman_. She wondered what would become of her. She wondered if there was anything that could be done, but no answers were forth coming. The boat eased up to the side of the _Dutchman_ and Isabelle did her best to climb the ladder and swing over onto the deck.

"Miss Beckett?" She shut her eyes and stifled a sigh as Adam Monroe came towards her.

"Take the lady below decks, marine." Mercer said following her. "She's to be locked in the brig."

"Sir?"

"Are you deaf?" Mercer growled into Adam's face. "Take her to the brig!" Adam silently led the way, another marine following behind.

"What happened, Miss Beckett?"

"Lord Beckett has disowned me." Isabelle said softly, lest they be overheard. "I told you I had crossed him."

"But he can't do that, can he?"

"He already has. It doesn't matter."

"Your leg miss…."

"Don't worry about me…please." She gently grasped the boy's arm as he stopped to open the cell. "I asked you once to forget about me. I ask you again….Being my friend at this point will do you no good and will harm your family."

"Hey! Hands off him!" She was wrenched back by the other marine as Adam Monroe swung the heavy metal door open.

"Leave off!" Adam shouted, stepping towards the other Marine.

"She's been charged with a laundry list of crimes, Adam. She's not to be trusted." The man's hand whipped down to her torn petticoats and pulled the material away from her knee. "She's a convicted felon, branded and beat."

Isabelle swatted the man's hand from her skirts and pushed him away. The force the shove knocked him back into the opposite side of the corridor.

"Miss Beckett!" Isabelle glanced to see Adam Monroe who had lowered his rifle at her. "Please don't do that, miss. I'd hate to have to….to…"

"I'm sorry…" Isabelle went into the cell slowly and quietly and sat upon the bench that ran the length of the back of the cell.

"Come on Adam, we can't stand here all day." The other marine said gruffly. The two of them walked away and left her in the dark bowels of the ship with her own thoughts.

* * *

The ship rocked and she latched onto the bars of her cell, having a hard time finding her balance in the rocking ship. Isabelle had been in the brig for a full day now. Her only way of knowing time had passed was the faint light that filtered down through the deck level cargo hatch. She had torn part of her petticoats away to bandage the blistering brand above her knee. It hurt, it had bled and now it was beginning to pus with a bilious yellow and green ooze. Isabelle felt tears well at the bottom of her eye but she would not let them fall. She had sworn to allow herself only thirty minutes to cry but she had not needed it. She had not shed a tear yet for her plight and if she hadn't done it in the first thirty minutes of her wretched incarceration, she would not succumb to it now. She sat with her back to the mast support, her hands still cuffed in front of her. She didn't know why they had left her hand cuffed, but assumed it had something to do with a decided lack of mobility and humiliation. She stared into the dark shadows that sat heavily outside the cell and let her mind wander.

She sat with Kapil in the gardens outside the house. She was perhaps ten years old and he was teaching her how to spread her mind like a bird taking wing and how to bring it back and shield herself from bombarding thoughts. They had been at it for days and she was finally growing proficient in the skill.

"It is up to you who you let in." Kapil had said. "Only you can allow a person complete access to your mind."

"But you can still get in…"

"That's because I am stronger than you. In time, you will learn to keep even me from you."

The lesson faded from her mind and was replaced with a dark room. She wandered around the room, her fingers trailing along the dark, smooth polished wood. There were books on the shelves that lined the room and they were blank; she had pulled one off the shelf and leafed through it. A fire burned in the large fireplace and she warmed her hands beside it. Heavy drapes in rich shades of purple, green and midnight blue hung from large, floor to ceiling windows. The furnishings in the room were the same dark wood as the walls and the same colors contained in the drapery. She brushed her fingertips across the fabric on the back of the chair and felt the raised stitches beneath her fingertips. A sound behind her made her jump, a gasp escaping her lips and in a blink of her eyes, she fled the room.

She was back in the dank hold of the _Dutchman_. It was beginning to grow dark, a lantern guttered on the wall in the corridor and a greasy black smoke added a pungent odor to the damp and rot of the brig. She tried to stretch her legs out in front of her, but hissed at the burning sensation that ripped through her leg. She saw a fresh bloom of blood appear on her make shift bandage.

"Here…." Isabelle flinched and looked to see a figure crouching behind her. "Ach no! Please…don't fear me."

She looked again and saw deep, rich brown eyes blink curiously at her. The eyes, undoubtedly human sat in a face that was decidedly not human. It was the face that resembled the knotted wood of the weathered ship. A deep whorl in the wood ringed both of the dark eyes and a deep v cut down the middle delineating a nose. Another whorl in the wood creaked sideways and Isabelle caught the glimpse of a smile. She felt nothing threatening coming from the creature, merely pity.

"I don't fear you." She breathed. "Who are you?"

"My name is….vas, Gisjbert." The face cracked again. "I'm surprised I remember…"

"From whence did you come?"

"I sailed once under Captain Jones. I have served him many a year."

"You became part of the ship?"

"Aye, as all who sail under the Captain must." Gisjbert folded his skeletal body upon itself and crouched beside her. She looked into one of the knotted whorls around his eyes. "He vas not always bad."

Isabelle flinched as Gisjbert reached a knobby appendage towards her.

"You are hurt?"

"Yes." Isabelle whispered.

"Ah, let Gisjbert see." The dark brown eyes blinked quickly, the wood creaked up into what Isabelle was fast realizing was a smile. "I vas doctor here vonce."

"You are German?"

"Dutch, ja." Gisjbert answered. Isabelle heard a clicking noise as he tilted his head side to side. "Mutch the same I suppose. I am from here now. I have not seen my home in ages. You do not trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone anymore." Isabelle said looking out into the shadows. "Everyone I've trusted has failed me….or I've failed them…"

"Ach, no. You merely put your faith in the wrong places. And then in the right places, you do not put enough. Faith can be a tricky thing sometimes I think."

"Are you the right place to be putting my faith in?" Isabelle asked softly.

"Was erzählt Ihr Herz Ihnen?" Isabelle was silent for a moment and then started to laugh. Gisjbert started to laugh too. "Sie sprechen Deutsch nicht?"

"Not a word!" Isabelle said shaking her head.

"Ach, then Gisjbert much teach the dame to sprechen icht!" Gisjbert's fingers clicked as he drummed them on a skinny dowel of a leg. "So, do you trust me?"

"I think I do. My heart says you are one to be trusted."

"Ach! Wunderbar!" Gisjbert said and he motioned for her to stand. "Come, come…." He pulled her to her feet and the two of them went to the ledge at the back of the cell. She sat heavily and stretched her leg out in front of her. She could hardly bend it. "Can you…." Gisjbert made a motion with his arm as if he intended her to bend it.

"Not at all." Isabelle watched as Gisjbert slowly unwrapped her make shift bandage.

"Das ist nicht gut." Gisjbert said flinging the old bandage over a knobby shoulder. He looked up at her. "That means 'this is not good.'"

"I gathered as much." She said looking down at her own leg. The once smooth expanse of white flesh was now an angry red color. The letter P stood out in relief against the skin and the skin immediately in the area of the brand was cracked and bleeding anew. She hissed when Gisjbert poked one gnarled finger against her knee.

"Does that schmerz—hurt?" He asked.

"Yes." She watched as Gisjbert went to an alcove in the wall and pulled something from it. He came back gnawing on the substance mumbling. He tugged gently at the hem of her petticoat. "What?"

"mmph I rrrriff dist?"

"I told you I don't understand German." Isabelle said her heart starting to race. Gisjbert laughed and then coughed, sputtering on whatever it was he had in his mouth. He reached up and pulled the wad of material from his mouth.

"No…I asked only if I could rip your skirt? I need something to bath your wound with."

"Oh….yes, of course…." Isabelle watched as Gisjbert tore a section of her petticoat and went to the bucket at the side of the cell that contained fresh water. He poured some into a dish shaped shell that he ripped from the wall and then came back to gently bathe the pus and dried blood from her leg.

"Why did this happen?" Gisjbert asked.

"I angered a man who I once trusted. He did this to punish me."

"You put your faith in him incorrectly I think."

"I think so too." Gisjbert went back to gnawing on the wad of substance he'd taken from the wall and then pulled it from his mouth again.

"This may sting, try not to move…" He pressed the gunk into her knee and it squished beneath the knobby fingertips across the enflamed area. She almost leapt away but forced her self to sit still. She dug her nails into the soft wood of the bench. Gisjbert hadn't warned her against doing that. "There, better!"

Isabelle opened her eyes and saw Gisjbert smiling up at her. She looked down at her leg and saw where he'd re-wrapped it and had bound the goo to her skin.

"What was that?"

"You're better off not knowing. But it will ease the burn from your leg." He said. "Better, isn't it?"

"Yes…much…." She answered. The initial burn had disappeared and there was now a cooling sensation spreading across the area.

"Gisjbert is tired now. You should rest too." He tapped her hand where it still rested on the bench and Isabelle watched as he receded into the woodwork of the cell. She hobbled to her feet and stood before him.

"Gisjbert?" But the whorls where she thought Gisjbert's eyes were did not open. She could barely make out his shape in the wood, his knobby fingers merely ridges in the wood of the ribs of the ship.

She sat again on the ledge and decided she would work more on her defenses. Her mind drifted to lessons she'd had with Kapil but soon again, the bright garden disappeared and she found herself back in the dark paneled room. She sat down in the wing backed chair that was close to the fire and she gazed into the flames. As usual, she felt quite comfortable in the room. She didn't know how long she sat in the room, basking in the comfort, warmth and safety of the place when suddenly she felt a presence. She stood and looked around the room, frantically trying to find the source of the feeling. The door to the room was locked and she quickly pulled the key from it and put it in her pocket. She swept the drapes aside, but there was nothing but more of the wood paneling on the other side. She went back to the seat she had occupied and closed her eyes and tried to count backwards in an effort to calm herself. The warm trace of fingertips against the skin along her jaw line and beneath her ear startled her so greatly that she jarred herself awake and glanced quickly around her cell.

"Gisjbert?" But he was still a part of the cell wall and didn't move. She scrambled to her feet and clung to the bars of the cell trying to see if someone had been in or near her cell.

The hall was empty. But it couldn't have been a dream….the skin beneath her jaw was still warm from the contact.

The hatch above was completely dark. It was night again and now she was beginning her second night in the brig.

She slept but dreamt of Jack and what was going on with the Brethren Court. Elizabeth was present, but Will was not. That was good. If Will Turner was not present, then Cutler was not there either.

She saw the pirates attack one another. The shouting in multiple languages made her head hurt and her ears ring. She saw Jack's dark eyes sweep the room and take in all the pirate lords. She closed her eyes against the noise.

"_ENOUGH!!!!"_ When she opened her eyes she was standing in the hull of a ship near a cell not her own. She could hear the faint strains of music, the minor chords drawing her closer to the low glow of candles within the cell. The dark skinned woman, the one called Calypso sat beside the candles stroking the pewter plating of the music box. In the shadows, Jones' mountainous form materialized.

"My Sweet, you come for me!"

"You were expecting me." Jones drawled softly from the shadows.

"It has been torture---trapped in this single form; cut off from the sea. From all that I love--from you." The goddess said with tears brimming in her eyes.

"Ten years I devoted to the duty you charged me." Jones growled. "Ten years I looked after those who died at sea and finally when we could be together again you weren't there." Jones snapped the music box closed, his blue eyes glaring harshly at the woman in the cell. "Why weren't you there?"

"It is my nature…" Calypso said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Would you love me if I was anything but what I am?"

"I do not love you." Jones stalked away from her. Isabelle gasped. _He was lying! _Davy Jones still loved Calypso with his vary being. He could cut out his heart, but never his love for the goddess Calypso.

"Many things you were Davy Jones. But never cruel." Calypso's voice shook. Her heart broke to hear Jones say he did not love her. The woman still loved Jones, in spite of the pain he had caused over the years. "You have corrupted your purpose and so yourself. And you did hide away what should always have been mine." Calypso reached through the bars and placed her hand on Jones' chest. Isabelle was taken aback as the tentacles receded into his face, his claw disappeared and she stared in awe at a man, not a monster. He breathed heavily for a few moments, finding it difficult to become fully accustomed to the form that had once been his. He looked at the woman who reached for him through the bars and his eyes softened.

"Calypso…" His fingers reached to brush across her cheek, but she was faster.

"I will be free….and when I am, I would give you my heart and we would be together always, if only you had a heart to give." She pulled her arm back through the bars and Jones' human face was instantly replaced by that of the tentacled captain that Isabelle was familiar with. The great claw latched quickly onto Calypso's slender throat and held her fast. The woman's eyes went from sad to fear filled. "Why did you come?" Jones tried to pull his arm back but found the claw was lodged in the bars. Isabelle gasped as he shifted through the bars.

"And what fate have you planned for your captors?" He drawled with his back to her.  
"The brethren court?" Calypso spat. "All of them--the last thing they will learn in this life is how cruel I can be." Isabelle felt the woman's eyes bore into her as she spoke and the vision of a horrific storm with hundreds of ships and thousands of men being crushed by the churning fury of the gray ocean waves passed before her eyes. Jones stomped across the cell towars the wall. "And what of your fate, davy jones?

"My heart will always belong to you." Jones whispered over his shoulder. Calypso's face creased into a satisfied smile and she pressed her cheek to the bars of her cell as Jones stepped through the hull and disappeared.

Isabelle retreated again to the darkened room and sat in the comfortable chair beside the fire. This room was her safe haven. She realized that now. Someone had gained access to it, but she didn't know how or who. She reclined into the plush softness of the chair and turned her cheek into the cool material. Once again she felt the slightest trace of fingertips across her jaw line, but she was not threatened. She left her eyes closed and felt the fingers ghost across her cheek, pushing wayward strands of hair from her face. The fingers continued to brush across her cheek and eventually curled along the underside of jaw, turning her head so that, if she were to open her eyes, she would have been looking at the intrusive stranger. The touch was warm, and gentle. It reminded her of a gentle ocean breeze. She was not even sure if it were real or if it were a part of her imagination. Warm breath ghosted against her ear and she was suddenly afraid to open her eyes.

"Please, don't hurt me…." She whispered. This was her inner sanctum, if someone chose to do her harm here, then the pain and damage would be severe.

"I would never hurt you…." The words were whispered against her ear and she felt no malice or deception in them. She was about to open her eyes to see who the stranger was, for surely it was no one she knew, when she felt their lips brush gently over hers; the barest whisper of a kiss.


	33. Revelations

Isabelle awoke with a start and stared at the tray that had been pushed beneath the cell door. She had not even heard her jailor approach her defense had been so great. She stared again at the darkness and remembered her visions and dream. She touched her fingertips to her lips and realized that her hands were trembling. _What had just happened?_

She crawled over to the tray and stared at the moldy piece of bread and the slimy piece of pork that swam in brine on her plate. She pushed the tray back beneath the bars and pulled herself upright. The burning in her knee had abated and though it still gave her some pain, it was not as bad as she was sure it would have been had Gisjbert not helped her. Light streamed through the port above and she realized that she must have slept for hours. She went back to the place in the wall where Gisjbert had slipped back into but could barely make him out, so faint were the whorls in the wood now.

"He won't come out again, missy. He expended too much energy on you." Isabelle turned to see the eel headed crewman staring at her through the bars. "He's part of the ship." Isabelle remained silent and watched as the crewmember unlocked the cell and entered. "You're wanted up above."

"Why?" Isabelle asked warily, backing further from the crewman.

"I don't ask questions." The eel head extended towards her and the two beady eyes blinked at her. "Unlike some people…."

"I won't go."

"You will if I have to drag you up them steps." The crewman growled.

"You won't lay a hand on me." Isabelle said sounding braver than she felt. She was angry, but anger and bravery were two completely different things. "I will be told right now why I am being taken above and for what…" The eel-man lashed out and struck her with the back of one of his huge hands, catching her high across her cheek. Isabelle crumpled against the hull of the ship and gasped at the pain shooting through her face. A dirty strip of wool was placed over her mouth and she was forced to bite down on it. Isabelle shrieked and tried to struggle as the eel-man tied the gag tightly behind her head.

"I told you no more questions." The creature's low voice hissed in her ear. She struggled against him as he hauled her to her feet and thrust her up the stairs ahead of him.

As she stepped out onto the deck a burlap sack was pulled quickly over her head and she shrieked again. She could see nothing now. Fear began to take over and she wondered why she was bound, gagged, and blindfolded.

"Right this way…" A rough hand grasped her upper arm and she was pulled across the deck.

Something snapped within Isabelle, a latent desire to survive and she tried to struggle against the direction with all her might. She swung her shoulder up into her escort and surprised them enough that they released her. Startled that she'd been so successful, she lost her balance and tripped sideways into more grasping hands and tentacles. She shrieked repeatedly as she felt the tentacles slithering their way up and around her arms and she struggled against them too.

"Oy! Enough of that! Lord Beckett says he wants her unharmed!"

So that's why she was being brought up. Cutler wanted to use her. Or parade her. She felt something wrapped around her arms and mumbled out a string of expletives that she thought were rather creative. She thought it rather unfortunate that no one could understand them through the gag. A hook was slid underneath the rope bindings and she was hoisted into the air. She hung perfectly still; afraid of what was to happen next. Her feet touched the warm wood of a boat that bobbed with the waves and Isabelle felt hands on her legs to guide her to a seated position within the boat. The hook was removed, as were the ropes around her arms, and she felt the boat ease away from the _Flying Dutchman._

Eventually the boat ground to halt and Isabelle could hear the waves lapping against land. Had they come to an island? She was pulled to her feet and she was again forced to rely on her captors to support her as she stumbled across the loose sand, unable to find her balance with the bag over her head.

She heard the soft sound of boots crunching in the soft sand and the prickle of someone's consciousness trying to reach out to her own. She sensed shock and curiosity and satisfaction. Cutler was beyond the burlap sack that covered her face, but so was someone else. And if the sound of the sand shifting was any indication, there were a lot of someone's on the beach this day.

"You be the cur that led these wolves to our door." Isabelle recognized the gravelly voice as belonging to Hector Barbossa. She remembered it from her visions.

"Don't blame Turner. He was merely the tool of your betrayal." Cutler said. Turner was there too if what Barbossa and Cutler had said was any indication. "If you wish to see its grand architect, look to your left."

"My hands are clean in all of this….figuratively." _Jack!_ Isabelle moved her feet in the warm sand uneasily, trying to figure out if she should be grateful or fearful at Jack's presence.

"My actions were my own and to my own purpose." Turner spoke up. "Jack had nothing to do with it."

_Then how did you get the compass? How did you know where the court would convene?_ Isabelle's mind raced.

"Well spoke. Listen to the tool." Jack replied.

"Will, we've been aboard the _Dutchman._ I understand the burden you bear, but I fear that cause is lost." Elizabeth was here too then, and who was the mouse in her pocket? Isabelle assumed one of the _Empress_ crewmen had accompanied her. They were the only ones to have been on both the _Dutchman _and make it to the meeting of the court. _Damn her for not listening to Norrington and following through on his last request of her! She never should have gone to Shipwreck Cove!_

"No cause is lost if there is but one fool left to fight for it." Isabelle felt something crackle in the air but wasn't sure what it was, so distracted was she with her angry thoughts at Elizabeth. She was unable to orient herself to what was going on with the sack over her head. _Why did they blindfold me? What purpose does this serve except to disorient me? If that was their intent, then they succeeded._

She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know everything that was going on. But being so off balance and virtually in the dark was frustrating to her. _Better to be safe than sorry though…._She kept her defenses high and strong in a blanket effort to keep everything out of her mind. She wanted no one where they didn't belong, she'd let too many people get too close over the years.

"If Turner wasn't acting on your behalf, then how did he come to give me this?" Cutler drawled. "You made a deal with me Jack, to deliver the Pirates and here they are! Don't be bashful. Step up! Claim your reward!" So then, Cutler hadn't been so stupid as to think that Jack would hand over the court while they were convened. How many pirates now lay in the sea beyond? She only hoped that now the _Dutchman _and _Endeavor _would have to face a fleet of pirate vessels. Unless of course, the armada that Cutler had been collecting also bobbed somewhere in the surf behind her….

"Your debt to me is still to be satisfied!" Jones shouted. _What was Jones doing on land? His ten years was not yet up._ "One hundred years in servitude aboard the _Dutchman._ _As a start!"_ Jones snarled.

"That debt was paid, mate. With some help." Jack said.

"You escaped"

"Technically"

"I propose an exchange." Elizabeth suddenly said breaking up the argument over technicalities. "Will leaves with us….and you can take Jack."

The air was electrified with shock and outrage. Isabelle shifted her feet again and struggled briefly against the crewman holding her.

"Done!" Turner said quickly.

"Undone!" Jack replied.

"Done!" Cutler's authority and pride at getting what he wanted was palpable in the tropic air.

"Jack's one of the nine pirate lords, you have no right…" Barbossa began to shout but was cut off by Elizabeth.

"King." She said as if that settled everything. _What was going on out there? What had happened in the days since the _Empress _had escaped from the _Dutchman?

"As you command, your nibs." Jack responded.

"Blaggard!" Barbossa shouted and a monkey screeched. _Where had the monkey come from? _Isabelle heard it scurry across the sand and then back. There was a low murmuring and Isabelle couldn't pick up on what was said with the sound of surf and wind surrounding her. She heard the crunch of boots in the sand slowly move, as if in dance and felt the crewman detaining her sweep and arm out as if to bump someone away from her. Jack must have been coming to stand beside her but had been maneuvered to another position.

"Do you fear, death?" Jones leered.

"You have no idea…"

"There are obviously other hostages to be considered." Isabelle's head snapped towards this new voice. It sounded familiar but seemed impossible.

"Oh, this?" Isabelle flinched when she felt a gloved hand run up the length of her arm. She knew it was Cutler, it felt as if there were a trail of slime left in the path of his touch. "I wanted you all to see that punishment for crimes is universal. There is no begging out of it."

"What crimes?" Elizabeth sounded shocked and indignant.

"Jail Breaks too numerous to count, slander, threats against the monarchy…just to name a few. Some charges are obviously going to have to be dropped though…."

"You're mad…" Turner said.

"Am I?" The burlap sack was pulled from her head roughly and Isabelle closed her eyes against the sudden brightness of the sun. She flinched and tried to turn away from where the sun hung directly in her line of vision. "No no my dear. Don't be shy or bashful….look at your friends…." She opened her eyes and glared at Cutler. "Oh, your 'supposed' friends I guess I should say…"

_I will fight you. I will win._

Isabelle transposed the thoughts into Cutler's brain, her dark eyes burning with an anger as bright as the sun. Cutler's eyes widened at hearing her voice so clearly in his head and he instantly tried to withdraw from her. She followed his consciousness as a cat would follow a mouse it was toying with. Cutler's only mode of defense was to break her eye contact and he did so by grasping her chin in his hand and forcefully turning her gaze away from him and towards the others.

Isabelle looked at the barely interested gaze on Hector Barbossa's face. He turned a charm of some sort over in his fingers and narrowed his eyes as he took in her disheveled appearance.

"_What interest and use does that waif have for that foul cur of a man?"_

She saw Elizabeth who looked quite shocked and dismayed at her appearance. William Turner looked apologetic, having seen her so soon after she'd been degraded and having not been able to do anything. She turned her eyes to the fourth figure on the beach and her breath caught in her chest.

"Well, well, well." Cutler drawled when he saw the shocked expression on her face. "I see you are quite shocked to see our friend the former Admiral standing here. I suppose you thought him good and truly dead."

_He's alive!!!!_ Isabelle's heart near to burst at the sight of James Norrington standing in the sand opposite her. _He was alive!_ She hadn't killed him!

"You see, she was also charged with the murder of Admiral Norrington, but since he's standing here with us today, I suppose I shall just have to drop that charge…."

"Let her go." James said. Isabelle shook her head and tried to mumble something through the gag. _Don't trade yourself for me. It's not worth it! _The grasp on her arm tightened painfully and she stopped struggling, a squeak of discomfort escaping through the gag.

"Oh no…you see. She's too valuable an asset to me right now. I'll keep her close. I'd also like her to be an example to others. Show them that I don't play favorites." Isabelle pulled away from Cutler as he tried to stroke the side of her face. He turned his attentions back to Elizabeth.

"Advise your brethren you can fight and all of you will die. Or you can not fight, in which case only most of you will die."

"You murdered my father." Elizabeth murmured.

"He chose his own fate." Cutler responded. Isabelle saw in her mind's eye Governor Swann's assassination. She forced Cutler from her mind, repeating her mantra of her victory over him. She would not allow him to control her!

"And you have chosen yours." Elizabeth practically growled. "We will fight. And _you_ will die." Isabelle watched as Elizabeth, Will and Barbossa turned and went back towards their small rowboat at the opposite end of the sandbar they were standing on. Her eyes swept to James Norrington's eyes, his dark hair sweeping across his face in the salty breeze.

_Go! Now!_

James backed up several steps, never once losing eye contact with her. He had taken ten steps before he finally turned on his heel and quickened his paces to catch up with the others.

An image flickered in her mind and she cocked her head at the wonder of it. She slid her gaze across and saw Jack staring at her with his intense, chocolate brown eyes. She nodded her head slightly, a movement made difficult by the tightness of the gag in her mouth pulling against her hair and her neck.

Two marines came across the beach and picked up the tub that Jones stood in. The tub was filled with water and Isabelle now understood how it came to pass that he was able to participate in the parlay. The men bailed water from the tub in an effort to lighten it and get Jones back to the deeper shoals. The men struggled beneath the weight of the barrel, heads down and Cutler, the shark headed crewman, Jack and Isabelle watched as they puffed, grunted and eventually managed to drag Jones close to the water's edge. They followed along behind at a slower pace and made for the small boat.

"That went incredibly well, don't you think, Isabelle?" Cutler smiled back at her. "Just think, now you don't have to be tried for murder; that must be such a relief for you."

Isabelle struggled against the crewman behind her and glanced again to Jack. Was the image she had seen really from him or had it been wishful thinking on her part? _Nothing proffered nothing gained. It is worth a shot….._

She dug her feet into the sand and stomped back on the big shark headed creature's foot.

At least, it was what she assumed was a foot.

Jack moved swiftly to her side and took a heavy handed swing across the creature's head. She ducked as the swing came across and the creature lost his balance and toppled into the sand.

"Run!" Jack hissed, shoving her in the direction that the crew of the _Pearl _had taken.

Isabelle looked to him but he was already being grabbed at by the creature and looked as if he had no interest in fleeing. Isabelle took off as fast as her legs would carry her. Her feet slipped in the loose sand and she heard a gunshot report behind her. Sand kicked up on her left as the bullet buried itself in the sand. She nearly tripped but somehow managed to catch her balance in the shifting sand. She saw James and the others up ahead. They had almost reached their small boat but James had turned and started back for her having heard the commotion behind them. Isabelle heard footsteps coming up fast behind her and she tried to run faster. Her chest felt tight and her knee was starting to hurt again.

"Isabelle! Get Down!" Isabelle saw James level a pistol in her direction and she quickly dove forward. Her shoulder dug into the sand and she heard the gun go off over her head. There was a grunting sound behind her and she turned to her side to see the crewman who had detained her stagger back, a gaping hole in his chest. Isabelle staggered up to her knees and found it difficult to rise to her feet. Her legs burned and her knee gave out beneath her when she tried to stand. She was in the attempt of rising again when she felt someone grasp her arm and haul her to her feet. Instantly she thought it was another crewman coming to get her and she struggled against them.

"Isabelle, it's me! Open your eyes!" Isabelle stopped struggling as she looked up into James Norrington's eyes. "Come on, we have to go now!"

She staggered along beside him as he reached behind her to try to unknot the gag. He got it loosened enough to slip it down around her neck. She took a gasping breath and spit into the sand to get rid of the disgusting taste of the fabric.

"Thank you." She rasped. She coughed a few times as they waded into the surf. Will and Barbossa sat in the boat at the oars keeping the boat close to the shallows. Elizabeth sat near the rudder staring back at them. Isabelle trudged into the surf beside James and hissed at the feeling of cold water coming up her legs, the salt stinging the brand in her knee. She almost fell but James had a tight grasp on her arm and didn't let her go down. His hand was warm on her bare arm and as they reached the side of the boat, his hand drifted to her waist. Isabelle didn't have time to think about James Norrington's hands being warm on her waist. They had to get away from the sand bar, Cutler and Jones. William Turner leaned forward and grasped her shoulders, helping to pull her into the boat. Barbossa helped Norrington in and there was a change in positions as Elizabeth came forward to sit beside Isabelle and Barbossa took the rudder.

"How much time do you think we'll have?" Elizabeth asked as James shrugged from his coat and pulled it around Isabelle's shoulders.

"Not enough, I assure you." Barbossa growled. Elizabeth held a water skin to Isabelle's lips and watched as Isabelle drank as much as she could.

"Are you alright?"

"I am now." Isabelle said wiping one of her hands across the back of her mouth. "I'd be better without this hardware though…"

"Will?" Turner looked over his shoulder as he rowed the boat and his lips pulled up into a slight grin.

"Not a problem. We'll take care of it when we get to the _Pearl._" He said taking in the sight of the shackles. "It won't be long at all and we'll have you free."

Isabelle sat in the boat and watched as the figures on the beach got into their own boats and headed back to the towering masses of the _Flying Dutchman _and the _Endeavor._

She had made her decision. SHe had chosen sides.

* * *

_**A/N: **Hmmm...so what do you all think of this latest twist? Tee hee hee hee..._


	34. Entering the fray

Isabelle was hauled over the side of the rail by Mr. Gibbs and assisted to the aft cabin by James Norrington. Elizabeth was hot on their heels and Will entered the cabin not long after with the required tools to spring Isabelle from the heavy manacles.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked sitting down across from Isabelle as Will sat beside her. He took up the cuff and began prying at it with a pick.

"I saw you escape the _Dutchman._" Isabelle said casting her eyes towards James Norrington. "Admiral….Mr. Norrington mentioned choosing sides. And we did." She said levelly.

"You didn't raise an alarm?" Will seemed shocked that she would not have spoken up.

"No. I didn't want to help Cutler. When I chose sides, I chose to take a stand against him." She turned to Elizabeth. "I protected you from him once; I just had to stay on that path."

"What happened after?" Elizabeth asked as one of the big cuffs clicked open and Isabelle's left hand was freed.

"They kept me under lock and key on the _Dutchman_ until I could be brought aboard _Endeavor._ To say that Lord Beckett was displeased would be an understatement. Cutler accused me of many crimes, some real—most imagined—and then he disowned me."

"And what things exactly did he accused you of?" James asked from where he leaned against a table, his arms crossed over his chest.

"He's suspected for years that I helped Jack Sparrow escape from prison in India." No one moved and Isabelle felt the need to explain further. She told them of the plan for the jail break, how Cutler had inadvertently involved her, of Jack taking her prisoner and of their arrival on the docks. "Cutler made to advance on Jack and he defended himself. Cutler was horribly scarred after the incident."

"Is that all?"

"And he's held me responsible for it. He knew, but could never prove that I was directly involved in Jack's escape. He knew, but could never prove that Elizabeth's escape from the coach the night her father sprung her from jail was my doing. He knew, but could never prove, anything I did." She stared pointedly at James Norrington who still leaned casually against the table in the corner. "Until recently; he didn't need much proof after you left."

"So because we broke out…." Elizabeth started.

"This is my fault then." James whispered.

"No." Isabelle said emphatically shaking her head. "I had this coming a long way off. I'm just an adopted daughter. Cutler never wanted me for a sister. He never cared for me." Isabelle looked out the big windows at the back of the cabin. "This might have been the best thing to have happened to me."

"And your leg?" Will Turner asked as the second cuff snapped open and fell to the table top with a loud thud.

"He branded me for aiding and abetting pirates." Isabelle looked down at her torn petticoats and felt everyone's eyes on her. She locked her eyes on Elizabeth before she finished. "It's in my blood…what can I say?" Isabelle rubbed gently at her sore, chaffed wrists and stared at the table in the protracted silence as everyone was absorbed in their own thoughts.

"Are you hungry?" Elizabeth finally asked trying to break the silence. "We can get you food and some clothes. Nothing fancy but…"

"Something simple and serviceable will be fine. And anything edible would be most appreciated."

Elizabeth left and signaled that James and Will should follow. He moved slowly across the cabin and Isabelle was left to wash up as best she could with the small basin of clean water left her. A knock sounded and she went to open the door. James stood on the other side holding a tray that was loaded with food for her. Isabelle stood aside and let him set the tray on the table. He stepped back from the table but did not leave. Isabelle saw flames swirl around James. He was angry, but the flames were directed inwards.

"You should not be angry at yourself." She said taking a bite of fruit.

"How do you know I'm angry at myself?"

"The look on your face says much. You're thinking too hard about what you could have done differently…."

"That's not the only thing, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Isabelle stopped eating and watched as James stepped closer to her, leaning with both hands on the table.

"Elizabeth told me about you." Isabelle was quiet for a moment and leaned back in the chair. "She said you could….sense things."

"Yes." Isabelle whispered as she averted her gaze. Her heart raced feeling as if it were going to burst from her chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?" James was shocked when Isabelle snorted derisively.

"What was I to have said? 'The weather is quite lovely today and oh, by the way, I've been meaning to tell you I can sense a person's thoughts and feelings and that's what's been afflicting me since before I could remember?' You would have thought me insane, as anyone else would have had I _ever _told them." She took a deep breath and shook her head, adding in a softer tone, "I've never told anyone; not really anyway." She locked her dark eyes on his. "People fear that which they don't understand. I'd have been called a witch…"

"You think I would have been so quick to judge?" Hurt and anger were sharp on the edge of his voice.

"Isn't everyone?" Isabelle shot back. The door opened and Elizabeth entered the tiny cabin.

"Here are some clothes for you…." She looked back and forth between Isabelle and James. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes" James answered.

"No." Isabelle was quick to respond. "I should finish eating and change my clothes."

"Yes of course." Elizabeth nodded. "James, you're needed on deck."

James looked at Isabelle intently. "I'd like to speak further on this, Miss Beckett, at your leisure."

"I'm no longer a part of the Beckett household." Isabelle said tilting her chin. James looked like he wanted to say more but Elizabeth came back into the room and reminded him that he was needed immediately elsewhere. He bowed to Isabelle and left her to eat and change and think more about their conversation.

* * *

Isabelle finished the food on the tray and went to the stack of clothes left on the table. They consisted of a blouse, pair of loose trousers, and a jacket. The trousers fastened at her waist with a drawstring and went down to the middle of her calves. They were dirty and stained, the plain canvas discolored by dirt, grog, salt, and gun powder. There was a set of striped stockings though they did not match. One was black with what had once been white stripes, the other was maroon with gray stripes. They were made of soft, light weight wool and came to above her knees. She pulled the right one all the way up but folded the left one down so it would not rub against her wound. Though the brand was still covered, it was beginning to itch after her sojourn in the surf and salt. The last thing she needed was to have it further irritated. The shoes were low and made of soft leather that had been repaired repeatedly. They were large on her feet, but she knew they were probably the only shoes close to her size that were aboard. The blouse was made of heavy cotton with vertical stripes. Isabelle guessed that the shirt may once have been red and white, but had been faded and bled to pink and maroon. It was missing several buttons at the throat and the sleeves were threadbare but voluminous, almost impractically so. There was a belt and a wide sash and she used to belt down the oversized shirt. Fortunately, the sash and belt served to add an extra way to keep her pants up as they wanted to slide down to hang low on her hip bones. There was a jacket as well and it was gray and large on her. She pulled the garment on and smiled to herself as the sleeves came down over her hands. _I must look quite comical _she thought. She rolled the sleeves back and, taking a glance at herself in the small mirror, thought she looked the proper pirate rogue, motley and worn. She had combed her hair with her fingers which had given it a wild look. She put her head down and went outside to where she heard raised voices.

The crew was gathered about the middle of the deck. The dark skinned woman was bound in ropes in the center of the crew. William Turner whispered something to her.

"Name him!" She shouted.

"Davy Jones!" Isabelle shuddered and watched as the dark skinned woman grew in height until she was as tall as the masts that rose from the center of the ship.

"Calypso! I come before you as a servant, humble and contrite." Barbosa intoned as he knelt before the eighty foot tall goddess. "I have fulfilled my vow, and now ask your favor. Spare me self, me ship, me crew…but unleash your fury on those who dare to pretend themselves your masters…or mine."

The air was filled with a deep and terrible voice, the ropes binding the giantess slipped away and all watched, horrified as the Goddess Calypso shed her human form and changed into that of her most beloved creature, the crab.

Thousands of crabs rained down over the decks of the _Pearl _and the ship rocked violently as the wave of crustaceans spilled over the rails and slipped easily into the sea. Isabelle had felt the anger and hurt in Calypso rain down upon her even as the crabs rained down upon the crew and ship. She ducked her head and was forced back into the cabin by someone and pressed against the interior wall. When she opened her eyes she found James Norrington staring down at her. He pushed one of the wild locks of hair away from her face and sighed.

"That probably wasn't a good idea." He whispered.

"What happened?"

"Barbossa released Calypso….who knows what will happen now." Isabelle pressed her hands against James's chest, forcing him to step back. The ship had stopped rocking and Isabelle moved out into the sunlight. The crew was scattered about pulling crabs from themselves. Some went to the rail to see if anything would happen now that Calypso was released, hoping she would make an appearance in the sea. Isabelle paid little attention to that; she was staring up into the pale blue sky. A dark cloud began to form and soon a slight breeze began to whisper over the decks. Isabelle's eyes turned silver as the wind picked up and began to move about the rigging and sails. The wind moaned, and the sound of creaking tackle added its voice to the symphony singing over the decks.

"My, but she is not happy at all…." Isabelle whispered. James touched her shoulder and Isabelle pulled away from Calypso's anger which was building a storm above them.

"It's not over." She whispered.

"There's still a fight to be had." Isabelle stared to where the voices were raised on the other side of the decks.

"We've an armada against us," Gibbs sighed in defeat. "And with the _Dutchman, _there's no chance."

"There's only a fool's chance" Elizabeth said emphatically.

"Revenge won't bring your father back, Miss Swann." Barbossa entreated. "And it's not something I'm intending to die for."

"You're right." Elizabeth said walking to the center of the deck. "Then what shall we die for?" Isabelle and James followed with the rest of the crew and began to gather around Elizabeth Swann.

"You will listen to me. Listen! The brethren will still be looking here. To us! To the _Black Pearl_, to lead. And what will the see? Frightened bilge rats aboard a derelict ship?" Elizabeth had climbed up to the rail and clung to the rat lines. "No." She whispered, casting her passionate gaze to the pirates gathered below her. "No, they will see free men and freedom!" She shouted, her words charging the very air with the passion of what she believed. "And what the enemy will see is the flash of our cannons. They will hear the ring of our swords and they will know what we can do. By the sweat of our brows and the strength of our backs and the courage of our hearts…" Isabelle reached down and grasped the cuff of James' coat in an attempt to steady herself so great was the wave of emotion that surrounded her. Elizabeth's voice began to crack. "Gentlemen! Hoist the colors." She begged.

"Hoist the colors" William whispered. The words began to spread across the deck from man to man.

"Hoist the colors!" One of the men shouted.

"Aye the wind's on our side boys, that's all we need!" Mr. Gibbs shouted as the deck of the _Black Pearl _erupted in cheers.

"HOIST THE COLORS!!!!" Elizabeth shouted, turning over her shoulder and screaming into the wind to the ships floating beyond them. Other crews, seeing the banner of the _Pearl_ going up began to scramble and hoist their own, cheering in their native tongues. Each standard caught the strengthening wind and fluttered proudly at the top of each mast. Elizabeth leapt from the rail and moved to stand on the quarter deck, looking down on her sailors where they began to prepare for battle. Isabelle, James, and William joined her.

"Isabelle, you'll be sent to one of the vanguard ships. No sense in your being involved in this." Elizabeth started but Isabelle was shaking her head.

"I'll not be sent away." Isabelle had to yell to be heard above the shouts of the energized men. "Not when I can help."

"How can you help?" William asked.

"I'm connected to Cutler…." The corners of Isabelle's mouth turned up in a sad smile. "I know what he's thinking."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember I told you that Cutler blamed me for letting Jack get out of jail?" The others nodded. "And that he was injured that night? Again they nodded. "Well I tried to stem the flow of blood that night. His blood was on my hands and now we're connected…just as Jack and I are connected for the same reasons…." The others looked confused for a moment. "Suffice it to say I know what Cutler is thinking. You need me here to give you insight."

"It's too dangerous." William said shaking his head.

"Why is it too dangerous? Do you think I'll falter in battle?"

"Well, yes." Will answered.

"Is Elizabeth being sent away?" Isabelle glared angrily at the others.

"Well…no. But Elizabeth knows how to fight…"

"So do I." Isabelle said tilting her chin to stare up into the dark eyed pirate. "I have a distinct advantage over you all." She looked around at the people standing before her. "I know what move my foe will make before they do."

"Impossible…."

"Try me." Isabelle growled, her voice dangerously low as she pitched the challenge. Elizabeth looked at James and William and finally drew her sword. James handed Isabelle his and watched as the two women circled one another. Five times Elizabeth attacked and five times Isabelle evaded the attacks easily and had Elizabeth held at sword point.

"Impossible…." William muttered again. He too attacked Isabelle and found each attack thwarted. "That's incredible."

"I want to fight. I have as much right to fight as any of you. More so!" Isabelle said the passion rising in her own voice. "After all the years I was forced to live with him and suffer his tyranny I want to fight back! I'm tired of being trod upon! I want to pay him back for this!" She raised her left pant leg to show the bandage on her leg.

"Then welcome to the _Black Pearl._" Elizabeth said. "We'll need all the help we can get I think."

"What sort of advantage can you give us now?" William asked suddenly. Isabelle grinned and went to the rail where she could look out over the expanse of ocean and see where the _Endeavor _bobbed in the surf.

"_We have a favorable wind sir."_

"_ah, so we do. Signal Jones to give no quarter. That should brighten his day."_

"They're to give us no quarter." Isabelle said. "Jones will come in first, the rest of the armada will lie in wait for whatever transpires. If Jones falters, they will join the fray. If Jones is victorious they will turn their attentions to the rest of the Brethren."

"No quarter, how reassuring." Barbossa grumbled as he stood beside Mr. Cotton.

"Calypso is angry as well." Isabelle added as she turned her face skyward again. The others looked to where the sky was darkening to a steely gray, flashes of green lightning cracked over their heads. "And she's on our side."

"To stations!" Turner shouted as the _Pearl _lurched into action.

"Man the capstan! Raise the main topyard!" Mr. Gibbs shouted as he stalked down the deck. "Keep that powder dry!"

Isabelle moved to a spot on the rail where she could watch as the _Flying Dutchman_ advanced into the storm, tacking towards them.

The ocean before them began to swirl, whitecaps illuminated by the ever more frequently flashing lightning. Rain sluiced across the decks and was whipped sideways by the wind, slicing into anyone unfortunate enough to be out in it. Isabelle's hair was slick against her face and hung heavy down her back. Gibbs came up beside her as she continued to stare into the churning ocean between the _Pearl _and the _Dutchman._

"Maelstrom!!!" He shouted, raising the alarm across the decks.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" James had come up behind Isabelle and was looking into the dark and storm with a trace of fear in his eyes. He gazed at her, searching her eyes for something.

"I have to." Isabelle said resolutely. She clasped his forearm and locked her eyes on his. "You have weathered many storms. Their deaths were not your fault." James' face registered shock and then went blank as he stepped away from her. "I know about the Tripoli hurricane, but you must get over it. You have work here to be concentrating on." Barbossa's voice echoed over the decks as the _Pearl _eased into the Maelstrom.

"Brace up yards, you cack-handed deck apes! Dying is the day worth living for!"

Isabelle moved away from the rail as the _Pearl _began to ease into the churning waters.

"More speed! Haul your wind and hold your water!"

The stench of fear blended with the smell of wood rot and gunpowder. Isabelle knew the smell well. But the smell of fear, though strong amongst the men had not degraded into that of absolute terror. She grasped the mast as sailors moved quickly around her and stared back to where the _Flying Dutchman_ was coming up fast behind them. She focused on the deck of that ship and sensed absolute terror there. The marines had not been trained for this sort of combat, and Isabelle smiled as Mr. Mercer's terror was evident upon his creased face.

_Good now he shall have a taste of his own medicine._

The _Dutchman _fired on the _Pearl_ and everyone jumped to prepare for a broadside fire as they eased deeper into the swirling waters. Isabelle held hair from her face as the order to fire was given and the deck shuddered beneath her feet. The acrid smoke threatened to choke her and she ducked as the projectiles from the _Dutchman _blew bits of the rail from Jack's precious _Pearl._

"You should go below decks!" James Norrington yelled to be heard over the din of battle and the howl of the wind. He grasped her arm and tried to pull her towards Jack's cabin.

"I'm safer here than there!" Isabelle shouted as one of the cannon balls slammed into the lower decks of the _Pearl. _

"You shouldn't be here at all!" James shouted back. Isabelle locked her knees and pulled back as the decks bucked, another volley being sent across the gap between the ships. She kept her gaze on the cannonball and let her mind follow it. She saw it strike against the stern of the _Dutchman _and saw crewmen, marines and Jones take cover from the shower of debris that came down in the ball's destructive wake. Jones had shielded Mercer from it, but grasped him as things began to settle. Jones' eyes turned more malevolent than normal and he snarled down at Mercer.

James watched as Isabelle lost control for a moment and her eyes took on the eerie silver color he'd seen on many previous occasions. Her breaths came faster and she clutched the mast as if it were the only thing holding her fast.

"NO!" She shrieked, her screams drowned out by the cannons. She fell to her knees, James following, cursing himself for not forcing her to leave the _Pearl._ He pulled her up so he could look again in her eyes and found them to be their normal dark shade.

"What happened!?"

"Jones killed Mercer!" She shouted. James pushed the wet hair from her face as she looked about wildly. "I saw it! He…his tentacles!...and---It was horrible!" She said not wanting to voice it, the image printed indelibly on her brain. "And Jones has the key now!" Isabelle struggled to rise to her feet and move along the decks. "Jack has escaped from the brig. He's got the chest!" James looked away from her for a moment and back at the _Dutchman._ He was just able to see a small figure hurtling skyward into the rigging of the _Dutchman._

Cannons continued to roar beneath their feet and smoke and rain continued to drift across the decks, debris and blood adding to the hazards of walking across the tossing platform. The ships came closer and closer and Isabelle watched as Pirates from both sides began to prepare to board the other ship. Marines and Jones' monstrous crewmen passed by the pirates from the _Pearl_ and landed on the decks prepared to fight. Isabelle stopped, face to face with Adam Monroe.

"Miss Isabelle? What are you doing here?" He shouted, shocked to see a familiar face amongst the pirates.

"I've chosen sides!" She said grasping his arm. She pulled him towards Jack's cabin and shoved him inside. "Stay here and don't come out. Surrender now."

"I can't do that Miss."

"I'm trying to save your life!" She shouted angrily at him. Adam looked down at his musket and then back at Isabelle. Slowly, he handed her his musket. "Good lad." Isabelle slammed the door on the young man and went back to the decks. She saw Turner and Elizabeth each fighting off the enemy and turned to see another of the _Pearl _crew struggling against another raider. Isabelle leveled the musket and fired into the creature and saw it slump into the defender. The man nodded his head in thanks before turning to fight another.

"Barbossa! Marry us!" Several heads turned at Elizabeth Swann's shouted words.

"I'm a little busy at the moment!" The grizzled captain shouted back.

"Barbossa Now!"

"Fine then! Dearly beloved we be gathered here today to nail your gizzards to the mast, you poxy cur!"

Isabelle found herself fighting against one of Jones' creatures and easily dispatched him with a slash of her blade. She worked her way across the decks to where James was in a back and forth battle of parry's against his attacker. She slashed across the creature's back, dropping it to its knobby knees and then brought her blade across its neck, severing head from body. James Norrington locked eyes on her and stared, awe struck at what had fast become a new Isabelle.

* * *

_**A/N: **Thanks for reading. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this. I won't be updating over the course of the next week, spring break and all, but I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful week! _


	35. Maelstrom

_**A/N: **Well, now that I'm back from break and finally unpacked, things should happen a bit faster. As always, please enjoy and review!_

* * *

A slow wave of heat washed over Isabell and she went weak at the knees even as she fought against the invasion. A sudden roll of the ship sent her flying forward into James Norrington. One strong arm went deftly around her and clutched her tight to his chest in spite of the sword he held in his hand.

"What happened?" He asked as he looked down at her, holding her face in his free hand trying to bring her eyes to his. If he could see her eyes, he could catch a lie if she told one. She shook her head and locked her eyes on his. She opened her mouth to speakbut was drowned out by the terrible sound of thetempest and the battle around them.A cannon ball fired from the _Flying Dutchman _slammed into the rail nearby and James turned, half flinging Isabelle away from the flying splinters. When they looked up their gazes settled on where Will and Elizabeth were locked in a passionate embrace amid the chaos of battle. 

"_You may kiss...Just kiss!" _Isabelle realized that now, officially, Elizabeth and WIlliam were man and wife.

Isabelle's head felt ready to implode at the contrast of feelings within her. There was a part of her that felt afire, warm, and weak and braced—as if all was right and as it should be. Another part of her felt as if a two ton weight had landed in her stomach—there was a sadness that fought against the happiness and passion, and yet it too was bouyed by a relief of sorts. SHe didn't understand it at all. A third part struggled to the surface bringing with it the foul odor of terror and fear. She averted her eyes from everything happening on deck for a moment and stared up into the ever darkening sky, pressing a hand to the pounding in her head in an effort to stop it. She had to refocus and center herself if she were going to continue in the fight. James knelt beside her and watched as she tried to suppress whatever was racing through her mind, knowing there was nothing he could do. Once she had suppressed the strong feelings that had bombarded her, she glanced over to where the _Dutchman _sailed across the widening Maelstrom. She could still see Jack standing on the yardarm fighting Jones. She tugged on James' coat and gestured at the elevated fight.

"Jack needs our help!" James nodded and grasped one of the swinging ropes used for boarding. 

"I'll go! Stay here with Elizabeth!" But Isabelle shook her head.

"I'm not staying here. I'm going with you!" ISabelle felt her voice crack suddenly, sore from shouting to be heard above the wind and from breathing too much of the gritty gunpowder smoke. Isabelle reached for another rope and had her wrist wrapped about it when James grasped her arm tightly. 

"Have you ever done anything like that before?" He shouted, his eyes smiling slightly even with all the terror around them.

"No, and we've no time to stand here gabbing about it!" Isabelle's anger was rising. SHe was capable, she knew it! James stepped forward and took the heavy rope from her. He wrapped his arm around her narrow waist and looked down into her dark eyes.

"Hold fast!" She wrapped her arms around his chest and the two of them swung out over the gap between the ships. Isabelle's stomach felt as if it had fallen out the bottom of her feet. A smile creased her lips; this might have been quite fun if not for the dangers that awaited them at the end of the swing.

James and Isabelle hit hard against the deck of the _Dutchman _and Isabelle went tumbling across the decks, getting lost amongst the marines and crewmen. She had just gained her feet when the ship shuddered beneath her and nearly everyone was thrown again to the decking. She rolled to her back and saw the reason…the masts of the _Pearl _and _Dutchman _had become entangled and were now locked together in combat. Isabelle turned her attention to the mast and saw where Jack hung precariously from the chest that had been snatched up by Jones as well. 

"Jack!" Isabelle screamed. She watched as Jones effortlessly hauled Jack up and flung him over the mast. Jack dropped onto a swinging rope and Isabelle lost him amongst the ragged sails. Something pricked at her senses and she turned quickly, bringing her blade to bear against one of the company marines.

"I don't want to harm you!" Isabelle shouted over the raging sound of wind, rain and thunder.

"Murdering witch!" The man shouted bringing his musket around in an effort to strike her with the butt of the gun. Isabelle knew the swing had been coming and ducked as the rifle butt came around. The stock of the gun slammed across and the man was half turned with the momentum of his swing. She stood quickly as the man took a second swing at her and brought her clenched fist into the man's nose. His gun carried around and knocked her in the shoulder, but with none of the force he had intended and he dropped the weapon quickly to grasp his bleeding nose. Isabelle watched as he staggered backwards and fell over one of the fallen sailors that lay about the deck. She turned towards her next foe, hoping the throbbing in her hand would stop soon.

* * *

"Turner!" A shark headed crewman shouted. Isabelle turned from the man she was fighting to see William Turner holding the chest of Davy Jones. Turner was capable of defending himself, but something in her gut told her he would need help before long. She moved to where James Norrington was caught fighting two marines and one of Jones' crewmen. She knew she had to help him if she could. She distracted one of the marines and drew him away from the fight with Norrington. The man was battle mad and lashed out irrationally. Isabelle ducked and brought her blade stabbing up into him, her breath caught in her chest as she watched the shock register in his eyes. She withdrew her blade and watched as his eyes grew wide and he fell to the decks with a dull thud, grasping at the place her sword had punctured his chest. Isabelle turned back to Norrington and found him backed into the rail. She slashed across the back of the crewman from the _Dutchman _and stabbed into the kidneys of the company marine. The man went limp and toppled back into her, knocking her to the deck. James lifted the dying man off of Isabelle and helped her to her feet. They stood chest to chest and James' dark eyes stared into her own. He looked as if he wanted to ask her something but held his tongue. Isabelle shook her head and backed away from him gesturing to the deck above where Turner was engaged in his own fight.

* * *

"_The key…the key…the key…." _Isabelle stopped in her tracks as Jack's voice echoed in her head. She brought the heel of her hand quickly to her temple trying to block the images streaming through her head. She saw in her mind the sight of Jones holding the key aloft with one of his beard tentacles. Jack had slashed the thing away from the captain's face and the tentacle had gotten lost in the confusion on the decks below. Chest and key could not be brought together….accept under Jack's hand. In her mind, the best alternative was to keep the heart locked away. The second best option was to have Jack be in control of the heart's fate. She immediately started looking for the key.

Jack was busy fighting Jones with a piece of half rotted wood he'd pulled from the ship. Elizabeth came down onto the deck and engaged Jones. He struck her a forceful blow with his claw and Elizabeth was knocked into the stairs. Isabelle saw it happen from out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't stop, so consumed was she with finding the key. _She had to find that key! _

She dashed from body to body on the decks and pulled some of the wounded from the piles they had gathered in. Occasionally she had to fight to make her way further up the deck. It felt like forever but she finally found the slithering tentacle trying to pry itself from beneath one of the fallen bodies that littered the deck. It twisted and writhed of its own accord and Isabelle had to swallow back her distaste and aversion and grasp the slimy thing. She pulled the key ring from the appendage and felt the disembodied tentacle wrap around her wrist in a tight grasp. She shrieked, shocked at the cold grip of the thing. She shook her arm but still it would not let go. Looking about she saw a heavily encrusted structure beside her. The tentacle tightened and seemed to squirm farther up her arm. Isabelle, panic rising within her, did the only thing that she thought she could do and slammed her hand against the bulkhead she was standing beside. The tentacle loosened in shock and she quickly flung it away from her. Her right hand throbbed painfully now, having once been used to punch a company marine in the nose and now to slam the tentacle into releasing her. She looked at her hand and realized that some of the barnacles had cut her hand and blood streamed freely across the back of her knuckles. There was nothing to be done for it, Isabelle thought as she clutched the key to her chest with her left hand. There were other things more important than the pounding and burning in her hand. She was tired; there was no getting around that. The rain and wind pelted her and kept her hair matte din awkward strands across her face and shoulders. She swept the hair from her face with the back of her left hand as she looked quickly around the crowded decks of the ship. Finally her eyes settled on Jack Sparrow scrambling across the decks.

"Jack!" Sparrow looked up and locked eyes with her, mildly shocked to see her standing smack in the middle of the horrific sword fight aboard the _Dutchman._ She held the key aloft and then hurled it with all her might towards him. A now familiar prickle in her mind forced her to turn away from where Jack stood and duck as a large _Dutchman _sailor swung a rusty blade at her. She turned and staggered across the heaving deck in an attempt to find her sword. She had dropped it when she'd picked up the tentacle and had lost it in the melee. She saw James fighting his way towards the aft portion of the ship where all the principal players now seemed to be congregating. Jones, Elizabeth, Jack, Turner and the chest all seemed to be on the quarter deck. Isabelle turned and was about to make her way to the quarter deck as well when she found herself face to face with one of Jones' huge monsters. It growled down at her and raised a gigantic, spiked club over its head. Isabelle quickly brought her stout cutlass up against the heavier club and backed away. The creature brought the club up in the same dimwitted swing and Isabelle brought her sword around to hack into the creature's side. The blade dug into the side of the creature which seemed to be made of the damp wood of the ship. The blade would not pry free and Isabelle and the creature both looked in stunned silence at the place where the blade was embedded in the side of the monster. A low growl emanated from the creature's throat and he prepared to bring the club down again. The club was raised high over its head and Isabelle reeled back, finding herself trapped against a bulkhead. She ducked, kneeling upon the deck, preparing herself for the worst when suddenly a slender blade came up through the creature's chest. The monster looked dumbly down at the blade and turned to see James Norrington standing now weaponless. The creature growled, the sound seeming to be the only one it was capable of making and advanced on Norrington. Isabelle looked down at her fingertips and saw a dirk lying just beyond her grasp. Glancing back she saw James grasp the thick wrists of the creature trying to keep the deadly club from being brought down against him.ISabelle scrabbled forward and picked up the short blade in her left hand and threw it at the creature with all the strength she could muster. The knife buried itself to the hilt in the thick skin at the base of the creature's head. It dropped the club and began to try to claw at the knife trying to get it. Distracted and disoriented, the creature did not pay attention to the heaving of the deck and toppled over the rail and was lost into the whirlpool below. Weakened and unsteady on the violently heaving ship she tired to gain her footing but found it impossible and toppled into James Norrington.

"Are you alright?" Isabelle shouted up into James' face as the wind shrieked around them and they both looked into the swirling abyss. Several crewmen had fallen into the swirling maw as had the detritus from both ships that had not been lashed down properly. 

"I'm fine, what about you?" Isabelle shrugged but felt an extreme weight of foreboding settle upon her. She sagged slightly against James and shook her head. "We have to get back to the _Pearl!"_ Isabelle's heart shuddered as the sound of Jones' heart pounded in the open air. "We can't stay here much longer!" There was a cracking sound above and it seemed that the _Pearl _was trying to ease away from the _Dutchman. _Isabelle cast her thoughts across the gap and realized that that was precisely what Mr. Cotton was trying to do. If he didn't separate the ships, both would be sucked into the black abyss and all would perish.

James looked up to see one of the large pieces of rigging straining to keep a fast hold against the sails, realizing at the same moment as Isabelle that the ships would have to separate or both be lost to the Maelstrom.

"You'll have to hang on to me again….!" He shouted down as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Isabelle looked back to see Jack and Jones on the deck, Jack with Jones' heart held in one hand a broken blade in the other. She struggled and pulled away from James, taking a step towards the quarter deck. Crewmen from the _Pearl _were scrambling past her to find ropes to get back to their own ship, knowing that the _Dutchman _was getting sucked into the Maelstrom. "Isabelle! We have to go _now!" _James shouted as he grasped her arm, turning her back to face him. 

There was no time left. Isabelle looked up as a splitting crack pierced the air. She thought it might have been the sound of thunder but it was not. Thunder rumbled lower than this. The masts above them began to split with the force being exerted upon them. _No time! no time! no time!_

Isabelle quickly raced to Norrington's side and just as before, one of his strong arms was wrapped around her waist. He kicked out with one strong booted foot and knocked the belaying pin from the rail. The pulley dropped to the deck and hurtled James and Isabelle into the air. The motion of the ships propelled them out over the spinning gap towards the decks of the _Pearl. _They were half way over the abyss when something inside Isabelle seemed to break. Everything around her seemed to go very still and silent. The wind howled, but she didn't hear it, the rain pelted but she did not feel it and the sky cracked with lightening, though it didn't seem as bright as it had before. Her very breath was robbed from her lungs, and she nearly lost her grip on James.

"Don't let go!" His grip tightened almost painfully and his shout brought her back to the situation at hand. She locked her eyes on his trying to focus and catch her breath. _What just happened? _"Brace yourself!" James suddenly yelled as they hit the rail of the _Pearl _and tumbled onto the deck, James above Isabelle, pinning her to the slick planks. The force of the impact knocked some air into Isabelle and she gasped and cried out. James half rolled off of her, fearinghe had injured her in the fall,and gazed down at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were wide open and hauntingly silver. 

* * *

Isabelle was pulled from the deck of the _Pearl _by the power of Jack's shock at seeing young William Turner viciously stabbed by Davy Jones. Elizabeth gasped, forced to watch as Jones heartlessly turned the blade in her husband's chest. Jack stared at the heart in his hand and then to where Elizabeth struggled to keep Will's ebbing attention on herm, her voice shrill with panic. One of Jones' crewmen savagely leapt up and fought Jones. 

"_The ship needs a captain…everlasting life. Captain of the _Dutchman _forever.." _Jack's thoughts were centered on his own everlasting life.

"Y_ou can save him Jack…for Elizabeth." _Isabelle intoned softly, watching the scene from a place beside Jack. 

"_A touch of destiny in 'im." _It was the voice of the dark skinned woman echoing in Jack and Isabelle's shared consciousness.

"_They whelp? Captain of the Dutchman forever? That's nigh on intolerable..."_

_"Help him Jack…."_

_"Bugger all..."_

Isabelle pulled away from the scene as Jack raced across the deck to Will Turner's side. 

* * *

Isabelle coughed and blinked looking up into James Norrington's eyes.

"What happened?" James asked her, one hand cupping her cheek and the other grasping her arm. Isabelle took several breaths before nodding her head and struggling to sit up. Norrington helped her into a seated position and knelt opposite her, watching as she winced suddenly and closed her eyes against a pain he did not understand.

"They've stabbed the heart!" She wheezed. There was a high pitched screech in her mind and she found it difficult to concentrate. She covered her ears and bent her head trying to get away from the horrible sound. She felt James wrap an arm around her pulling her tight to his chest as the whistling sound grew louder and even he heard it. The masts above began to creak wildly as the strain of the pull from the _Dutchman _threatened to shatter them. Isabelle cowered on the decks, shielded in James' arms as the world seemed to be crashing down around them.

"She's taking us down! Make quick or it's the Locker for us all!"

"Load chain shot!" James Norrington ordered to the spindly crewman who cowered nearby. The man scrambled and quickly loaded the nearest cannon with ball and chain. The gun thundered beside them and the sound of the attached cannon balls tumbling through the air added a new sound to battle. The chain slashed through the rigging and severed the masts, separating the two ships. The _Pearl _eased up and out of the Maelstrom guided by the sure hands of Cotton and Barbossa. The rain began to slacken and James heard Isabelle whispering into his coat.

_"Part of the crew, part of the ship. Part of the crew…part of the ship…."_

"What?" Isabelle shook her head and looked up at him. 

"I don't know." She looked around and saw everyone staring to where the _Flying Dutchman_ was struggling to get out of the current of the whirlpool.

"Jack, Elizabeth and Turner are all still aboard." Gibbs whispered.

The entire crew of the _Pearl _gathered at the rail and continued to stare across the abyss to where their comrades were still on the deck of the fast sinking _Dutchman. _There was nothing to be done for them now.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Marty asked, seeing the way Isabelle cradled it against her body and the blood staining the pale skin and cuffs of her oversized blouse and jacket. She looked down at it and slowly made an effort to make a fist, noticing for the first time how deep the gash across the back of her hand was. 

"It's nothing…" Isabelle turned away from the crew, their stares making her uneasy,and ran into James. 

"It isn't nothing, is it?" He grasped the cuff of her coat and examined her hand.

"I punched a marine…and then a tentacle….I don't think it's very bad…" She whispered as she looked towards where the _Flying Dutchman _was quickly sinking; only the masts were visible above the waterline now. James led Isabelle to sit upon one of the cannon and had her grasp his hand in hers. Isabelle lay her hand in his but did not grasp his hand at first…she instead relished the warm feeling emanating from his fingertips.

"Isabelle? Can you grasp my hand?" She finally did the best she could to grasp his hand tight in her own. She winced, but it was not bad. "You're right, it isn't broken." James said with a grin. 

"I told you it was nothing…"

"Yes, but sometimes when you say it's nothing, it turns into something." He said as he wrapped a kerchief around her scraped and bruised knuckles.

"That's unfair." Isabelle glared at him, but there was no fire held in it. There was little, if no fight left in her now. SHe was exhausted.

"You only say that because you know I'm right." James hauled her to her feet and they joined the rest of the crew to watch the death throes of the _Flying Dutchman._

Up from the center and confusion of the slowing waters came a shadow that hurtled upwards and out of the cycling waters. It was a sail from the _Dutchman _and something was weighing its corners down, soaring on the breeze.

"Bring the _Pearl _about." Isabelle said dully. "Jack will need to be picked up."

The crew turned from Isabelle and stared as the strange apparatus touched down to the sea and two figures could be seen swimming towards the _Pearl_. 

"Are you sure it's Jack?"

"Who other than Jack Sparrow could escape what we just witnessed?" Isabelle's voice was sharp.

"Bring her around!" Gibbs shouted. The crew was slow to move, trying to assess what had just happened. The sky lightened and soon the black clouds were gone and the sun came out. The rays reached down and began to warm the shivering crew standing at the rail of the _Pearl._

* * *

"_Jones may have failed, but I will not." _Isabelle shivered and crossed to the other side of the deck. Her shoulders slumped as she saw the _Endeavor _ease from the line of the armada. 

"Mr. Gibbs. The _Endeavor _wishes to do battle. I'd suggest assessing our stores and preparing for a second fight."

"Second fight?" Gibbs looked up from the rope he was coiling and saw what Isabelle had seen. His shoulders sagged too and the man looked ten years older. "Blast and be deviled!" He issued fast orders for a survey of stores and more orders to see to the movements of the ship. Norrington watched as Isabelle hugged herself and kept her eyes focused on where the _Endeavor _was crossing the water that separated them from the _Black Pearl. _The _Pearl _tacked around and came close to the two tired figures in the water. Lines were cast out and they were hauled close enough to where they could pull themselves up to the deck. Sure enough the figures in the water were Jack and Elizabeth.

"Thank Goodness Jack!" Gibbs exclaimed seeing his captain set foot once again upon the _Pearl. "_The armada's still out there. The _Endeavor's _coming up to starboard, and I think it's time we embrace that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions."

"Coward." Isabelle whispered. James' hand rested heavily on her shoulder, preventing her from saying more.

"Never actually been one for tradition." Jack said pulling a face as he approached the starboard side to assess the speed and position of the _Endeavor._ "Close haul her. Luff the sails and lay her in irons!"

"Belay that or we'll all be sitting ducks." Barbossa shouted coming to stand beside Jack.

"Belay that belay that!" An argument broke out and everyone raised their voices trying to make a point. Jack would have none of it. Isabelle used the time to set her mind on Cutler and his plans.

"_He expects us to honor our agreement."_

"What's that foul yeasty cur of a brother of yours thinking?" Jack barked sharply as he came to stand beside Isabelle. Jack was angry, the fire of it banked low about him and ready to lash out at anyone who crossed him.Isabelle turned silver eyes on him as everyone's attentions were drawn to the opening gun ports of the _Endeavor._

" _It's nothing personal Jack, it's just good business."_ Jack's eyes narrowed at the sound of Cutler's voice coming from Isabelle's mouth. No one had time to think about what had just occurred as a deep rumbling could be heard coming across the ocean. Everyone crowded the rails, their attention torn between the fast approaching _Endeavor _and the place where the sound seemed to be emanating from.

Suddenly, directly in the path of the _Black Pearl, _another ship rose from the depths and leveled on its keel. Various pieces of debris fell from the ship and the crew of the _Pearl_ gasped as the _Flying Dutchman _rose from the proverbial ashes.

The two ships seemed to be on a collision course and the sailors on the _Pearl _groaned seeing two enemies coming at them The battle they'd all fought so hard in was for naught.

"Wait," Isabelle said as she felt the dread settle on the crew as a stone. "Just wait..."

* * *

"Ready on the guns!" The voice sounded thin on the air as it carried from the decks of the distant _Dutchman_ but Jack knew the figure now standing at the helm, his eyes sharp even at this distance. Isabelle knew too but only because she'd felt Jones die, and something else rise up in his place. She approached the spot where Elizabeth clung to the rat lines staring at the _Dutchman_.

"Captain Turner is at the helm." Isabelle whispered and watched as Elizabeth turned, shocked eyes towards the other ship, her heart lightening to know that Will was alive. Jack's face creased into a smile as well as he too began issuing orders.

"Full canvas!"

"Aye, full canvas!"

Both ships came about, side by side, and made a direct course for Cutler.

* * *

"_Surprised, I'm sure." _Isabelle said, broadcasting her thoughts towards Cutler. _"You thought you had won. But I think we have other plans for you._"

The _Pearl _and _Dutchman_ kept the _Endeavor _between them, sandwiching the Company ship between those of the Pirates. Isabelle kept her mind focused on Cutler and heard one of his marines ask for orders.

"_Not like your play ship on your maps is it? Not at all like you thought it would be." _Isabelle taunted. "_The immaterial is not immaterial. The immaterial is the power. It always has been. You had me believe for years that you were the stronger of us. I believe you will soon find that to be wrong."_ The marine beside Cutler kept asking for orders, not understanding that Cutler's faculties were securely engrossed with Isabelle's mental invasion. The crew of the _Pearl _scrambled around her loading the cannons and preparing for a broadside that was sure to cripple, if not sink, the _Endeavor. _

"Cap'n?"

"Fire!" The order went across the decks of the _Pearl _like wildfire and was followed quickly.

"_It's just good business." _Isabelle whispered. The crew quickly reloaded the cannons, preparing to fire a second round into the already crippled _Endeavor. _Isabelle saw through Cutler's eyes as the once mighty ship was torn to smithereens by the twin blasts from the _Flying Duthcman _and the_ Black Pearl._

The dwarf Marty was about to touch the long match to a cannon when Isabelle reached out and grasped it. His eyes turned to her, but she was focused on Cutler and the _Endeavor._

"Allow me?" She asked without taking her eyes from the _Endeavor. _Marty nodded and let Isabelle touch the fuse to the vent of the cannon. The tube bucked and fire belched from the muzzle of the gun, warming the faces of those manning the weapon. She watched as the ball joined others in flight across the narrow gap of water and disappeared in the smoke and debris. She could see Cutler's immaculate white wig as he slowly moved across the deck, splintered wood and fleeing crewmen flying wildly around him.

Isabelle would never know if it was her ball, or another that struck the _Endeavor _and plunged through her hull. She would never know which gun fired the round that bounded into the ship's armory and ignited the powder that was stored there. What she did know was that in one moment the _Endeavor _was being reduced to splinters and the next it was a raging ball of fire erupting from the sea. Everyone else shielded their faces from the heat of the blast and turned away, bringing their attention from the sinking hulk of the _Endeavor_ to that of the leaderless armada. All except Isabelle who stood with her eyes locked on the burning wreckage of her brother's ship.


	36. New World

James had watched as the _Endeavor _went up in flames, the ship bursting with fire and splintering into thousands and thousands of pieces. The fireball warmed his skin and engulfed men he had once considered subordinates and comrades. But he was not thinking about them. Cutler Beckett was gone from the world. Of that he was certain. No one standing on deck would have survived the blast. No one could have survived the bombardment from the two passing ships. James gave them only a moment's thought before remembering Isabelle's violent reaction in the boat last summer when Jack Sparrow had been taken from the world. He also remembered back to a few weeks before when Captain Sparrow had returned. Isabelle had been struck ill for an entire day, weakened for several after that. She had a connection not only with Jack, but with Cutler as well. James shifted his attention from the disappearing stern of the _Endeavor _and sought out Isabelle, even as everyone else's attention went to the armada beyond.

Isabelle was at the far side of the deck from him and he caught sight of her just as she staggered backwards into the thick mast of the _Black Pearl. _The deck between them was clogged with celebrating pirates and he was forced to stop, duck and push the loud pirates aside. He occasionally lost sight of her in the melee, and a few times was even stopped by the pirates on deck, but he always sought her out again as soon as the crowds thinned. As he drew near, he saw that her eyes were tightly closed, and her jaw set. Her fingers held tightly to the ropes lashed around the mast and held to them as if they were the only thing supporting her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as if she had just run a great race. James reached her side and half toppled into her as crewmen pushed by to get a better view of the retreating armada.

"Isabelle?!" James grasped her arms and held her close to him as she began to slide down the mast, her knees no longer able to support her. His arm went about her waist and his other hand went up to cup her cheek. They were pressed close to the mast, the press on deck necessitating it and he stared down at her as she slowly came back to herself.

* * *

Isabelle opened her eyes and slowly took everything in. Everything seemed brighter, sharper, and clearer to her. Every sight, every sound was sharper and louder. Every color was brighter and every smell assaulted her. She smelled blood, damp, rot, salt, and gunpowder, and something else, though she wasn't sure what it was. She saw the sky shining bright blue above her, pennants flying gaily in the breeze and smoke drifting over the bright teal waters of the Caribbean. Cheers carried over the water which glinted brightly in the sun. Never before had she seen the world as she was seeing it now.

James watched as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were seeing them for the first time. Her eyes centered on him and he was shocked at how bright they seemed. "Isabelle?" He asked again, wondering what was happening behind her dark eyes.

He saw her lips move wordlessly but the cheers from the crew of the _Black Pearl _drowned her out. They both turned to see everyone tossing hats into the air and firing their pistols in celebration. Hats began to rain down upon the deck around them and the euphoria rose as a wave from the pirate fleet. She shuddered at the blast of emotion and clung to James' jacket in the noise and exaltation around them came to a crescendo.

Isabelle took it all in. Part of her felt overwhelmed, and yet another felt relief. Having Cutler gone from her was as a balm, but it was also like having a wound opened and exposed. Sadness settled in the wake of the celebrations and Isabelle felt it weigh down upon her. She felt the air drawn from her and turned her gaze to where Elizabeth stared out at the _Dutchman. _

"She needs to go ashore…" Isabelle breathed, her eye lids drooped and she shook her head trying to overcome the wave of exhaustion that now bogged her down. James looked over his shoulder and saw Elizabeth but shook his head.

"I'm more concerned about you…"

"She needs to go ashore." Isabelle repeated as she weakly pushed him away from her. She tipped her head back against the mast and gulped at the air. "She needs to go now…Please, it's more important that you help her."

"Wait here…." James said pressing Isabelle gently back into the mast. He moved his way back through the teeming masses, trying to keep his eye on Isabelle. He didn't want to leave her side, he wanted to comfort her any way he could. But he knew from past experience that the best way to do that was to give her space. He turned quickly and moved across the decks to gather Gibbs and Jack and tell them what Isabelle had intoned to him.

Isabelle was grateful for the space he afforded her. There were so many thoughts flitting through her head at such a high rate of speed that her head pounded as the guns of the _Pearl _had pounded minutes before. She slid slowly to the deck and sat with her head leaning back against the mast. Activity eventually slowed and a slow silence descended upon the decks of the _Black Pearl._ Isabelle was lulled and comforted by the ebbing feelings that permeated the sailors on deck and she quickly drifted into a dark and dreamless sleep.

* * *

"What do you mean she said Elizabeth had to go ashore?" Jack asked as he chewed on one of his grimy nails. "Why didn't she tell me? I'm captain!"  
James looked at Jack with distaste and near growled. "She seemed tired. I don't think she had the strength to force her way through the ranks to find you."

"Mmm." Jack looked down over the decks in an effort to find the flaxen haired empath but didn't see her in the confusion below. "Very well." He said with a dismissive wave. "Go prepare a boat. Be sure Elizabeth _wants _to go ashore, though I have no doubt of Isabelle's incredible talents…I don't think I've known her to ever be wrong in the past…."

James and Gibbs moved quickly across the decks and snatched up a few of the more trustworthy deck hands to help get the boat onto the davits and into the water as Jack looked on from above. Elizabeth went with a certain amount of trepidation and nervousness about her. She said good bye to both Jack and James, tears in her eyes at the thought of what she was about to face. One day with her husband. Three words stood out in that thought: _Husband _and _one day._ It was hard to believe that she was married to William Turner and now she was to spend such a short amount of time with him. She had planned on spending the rest of her life with him. _One day ashore, ten years at sea._ Elizabeth's heart ached at the prospect of being wed to an absentee husband. How was she to go on? What would society think? What would she tell people? Would William come back in ten years? Would he still love her if she'd lost her looks and he'd stayed ever young? She shook her head as she seated herself in the small boat and took up the oars. _Banish those thoughts, enjoy the time given you._ The thoughts tripped through her head. The darker thoughts were not the path she wished to travel down, not with what awaited her. She didn't want to think dark thoughts when her time on the beach with Will would be so short. She didn't want her sadness to temper her time with her husband.

James watched as Elizabeth rowed herself away from the _Pearl._ She was a married woman. He knew he should be happy for her; happy that she had finally found what she had wanted after so long. But a part of him was saddened that her wedded bliss should be cut so short by circumstances. There was nothing that could be done for that though. He knew that even though Will would be an absentee husband, tasked with ferrying the dead from this world to the next, Elizabeth would always love him and would remain true to him until the end of days. Elizabeth was, as they said in social circles, off the market now. He knew in his heart that she was a strong young woman; she always had been and would make the most of the cards life had dealt her. He would always do what he could to help her, but he had been shown a different path that was not to join with hers at this late juncture.

The crew of the _Black Pearl _moved away from the rail where they had watched Elizabeth Turner depart. The young woman was on her way. There was still work to be done here though before they could get any rest. They slowly went about securing the deck of the _Pearl._ James joined them before going back to where he had left Isabelle at the mast.

She looked as if she had merely crumpled to the decks, her legs melting out from beneath her. Her head lay at an impossible angle upon her shoulder and for once there was none of the stress that usually sat so heavily upon her features. James looked around and noticed that other crewmen were heading below decks to their hammocks. Jack and Barbossa had retreated to their own respective quarters and now James and Isabelle were, for the most part, the only people left on deck. The rigging creaked softly over head and the swift breeze blew the smell of battle from the decks. James stood and backed slowly away from Isabelle. He didn't want to wake her, as uncomfortable as she looked. He would not deny her the rest she needed so desperately. He moved across the deck and lay in a comfortable looking space between one of the guns and the rail. The sun streamed down through the masts and sails above them and soon enough James too succumbed to the exhaustion that had settled on them all.

* * *

Isabelle sat up and blinked into the brightness of the setting sun. The gentle groan of the boards of the ship, and the sound of a gull screeching in the failing light served as the back drop to remind Isabelle she was at sea. She moved her head around slowly, a stiffness had developed in her neck and hissed at the pain involved in moving her head the slightest bit. Salt was heavy on the air and it filled her nose and burned her still tired eyes. She wondered briefly what had pulled her from sleep when she felt something shudder through her. The feeling was hot and spread through her entire being, starting at her toes and moving swiftly up through her core. It took her breath away. She stretched her legs out before her, working the stiffness from her joints. She reached behind her and pulled herself to her feet using the mast as a support, unsure if her legs would support her. Once steady she took slow and steady strides until she reached the rail where she could see what lay before her. She cast her gaze across the deck behind her and saw only a few slumbering members of the _Black Pearl. _She supposed one of them might have had a dream of loved ones from ports gone by, but she seriously doubted that. The _Pearl _bobbed slowly around on its anchor chain and Isabelle was afforded a view of a nearby island. The feeling of fire and passion swelled and she felt the air robbed from her again as her head rolled back.

_William and Elizabeth_

She quickly retreated from the rail and tripped her way across the deck to the ocean side of the ship and concentrated on the slowly descending orb of the sun. Each time the _Pearl _swung about on its chain, she moved as well, always keeping her eyes locked on the sun.

* * *

James awoke when he heard the sound of footsteps tread past him slowly. He blinked against the shaded light spilling across the deck, long shadows reaching fingerlike across the deck and into the sea beyond. It took him a moment to realize that Isabelle was no longer lying against the mast and he sat up to look around, wondering why no one had roused him if they were ready to make way. He rubbed his face and looked up to see no one yet awake, and then he saw Isabelle standing on the quarter deck staring intently into the sun. Her golden hair shone in the orange light of the sun and her eyes were dark, narrow slits staring into the sinking orb. A gust of wind caught her hair and the loose clothing she wore and whipped and billowed it around her. He watched her for a moment and wondered at her constant pacing around the deck, always keeping her eyes on the sun. He finally pulled himself from the deck stiffly and walked to where she stood now amidships with her dark eyes locked on the sun, hands spread on the rail before her. He watched as she leaned her head back and breathed deeply of the salty air.

"You're awake." Isabelle started and turned to face him quickly. "I startled you?"

"A little…." She breathed, clutching her chest. "I didn't think anyone else had yet awoken."

"I heard you moving about." Isabelle looked back to the sun as it eased closer to the sea. "What are you so focused on?" James asked softly, leaning his elbows upon the rail.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful." Isabelle breathed back. James looked out and saw the red disc of the sun set against a pink, orange, yellow and lilac sky. The ocean, usually a blue so bright it was painful to the eye had taken on a shade closer to a royal purple, deep, and dark and rich. The sun set the tops of the waves alight, as if it were aglitter with gems. The ship pivoted once again and he slowly took a long glance at the way the sun seemed to set the orange clay of the bluffs on fire. When he turned back, Isabelle was gone to the other side of the ship where her eyes were locked again on the sun. James moved across and laid his hand upon hers where it rested on the rail. James had to clasp her hand tightly, lest she pull it away from him.

"It is a beautiful sight…." James conceded softly.

"It's as if the whole world is new to me." Isabelle said after a long pause. "Every sight, every sound, every smell; it's as if I'm experiencing it for the very first time." They stood in silence for some time before Isabelle extracted her hand from his and moved around the ship, eyes still locked on the darkening sky. He followed her and stood, clinging to the ratlines as the extended high into the masts.

"What happened?" Isabelle's voice broke the reverie that James had slipped into as he watched the sun descend.

"Excuse me?" James asked having to pull his concentration from the sunset.

"After the escape…from the _Flying Dutchman?_ What happened?" Isabelle's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. James sighed and leaned against the taught ropes.

"There actually isn't very much I remember." He said watching as her eyes centered on him. "I remember firing at the ropes, and then there's a bit of pain, and blackness."

"I'm sorry…."

"Don't be." James pivoted and looked back out to sea. The barest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I don't know what would have happened had I stayed aboard the _Dutchman._ Nothing good I'd imagine."

"What happened next?" Isabelle stared up at him and saw his eyes move about as if trying to recall everything.

"I suppose I dreamt….I know I dreamt." He finally said. "There was a room, it was dark and warm and inviting. It smelled of paper, and flowers…..There was someone there on occasion, but I never did seem to be able to get close to them. They were always just out of reach…."

Isabelle stared at him for a moment and turned to dart away with the pivot of the ship. James followed suit.

"Why do you flee?" Isabelle shook her head, not trusting her voice. He grasped her hand in a tight grasp and felt her try to draw her hand away again. "No…don't pull away from me." She took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

"Please…." She breathed. "Please don't."

"Don't what?" When she didn't answer he pressed her shoulder and turned her to face him. "Don't what?" He repeated with more force.

"I can't bear it…" She brushed away and paced with the pivot of the ship, keeping her eyes on the scarlet orb of the sun.

"Why? What can't you bear?" She still would not answer him and he turned her again that he might look in her eyes. "Can't bear what?"

Isabelle's eyes searched his face and glanced back out to sea. They were at the stern of the ship and it seemed to James, as the bottom curve of the sun dipped into the sea that her eyes swam with tears.

"You wouldn't understand." She breathed. He reached up and brushed at a streak of gunpowder that was smeared on her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes against the sensations that swept through her.

"Of course I won't…especially if you don't tell me." She opened her eyes and stared deeply into his. "Won't you tell me?"

She inhaled sharply as his fingertips traced a path down over her neck. _God, even every touch seemed new and fiery to her. _The ship began another bobbing turn around the anchor chain and Isabelle made to move with it. James blocked her against the aft gun rail and held her in place.

"Let me by." She growled.

"No." James whispered down at her. He watched as her head tilted back and she took a shuddering breath. "Not until you tell me the reason you've been pacing around this ship and staring at the sun." When she opened her eyes again they were dark, yet glowed with eerie silver light. "Tell me, Isabelle."

"Them….I didn't want to intrude on them…" Isabelle said glancing over her shoulder at the beach where the dark shapes of two rowboats bobbed at the tide line. James looked up and moved away so Isabelle could break free and move to look out once again over the open sea. "You have no right to impede my movements." She said hotly as he came to stand beside her. "How dare you?!" Anger swept up over her as she turned to face him. "I'm tired and hurt and weak! I spent years under someone else's thumb and now he's--he's…" Isabelle trailed off as she slapped her hand softly against the rail and took a pained, shuddering breath.

James brushed his fingers across her neck and forced her eyes to meet his. "Lord Beckett is no longer a part of your life. He's gone from it."

"He was a part of my life for so long…" She sighed. "So was Jack. When Jack left, there was a great void to be filled. But Cutler….his presence lifted from me like cargo lifted from a dock. I feel easier for his passing."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I feel guilt…" She shook her head and turned back to face him. "But not for his death….I feel guilt for not feeling guilt." Her eyes searched his face, hoping to find an answer there. "Shouldn't I feel guilt? He was family…."

"He disowned you."

"I know…I know…" The ship turned again and she stood firm at the rail, even as the cool evening breeze rushed at her back and raced in towards the shore. "I have to be strong…."

James could see someone moving on the shore, no doubt it was Captain Turner preparing to return to the _Flying Dutchman _and the task set for him by the Goddess Calypso. His day ashore was almost up, the sun easing lower to the horizon. The small boat eased into the cool evening waters and pointed its nose towards the _Flying Dutchman._

"Her heart is breaking…." Isabelle said as a tear traced across the curve of her cheek. "You should go to her; she'll need your support…"

"No. She'll do well on her own now. She was always rather independent." He said with a small grin. "Besides her heart belongs to him. It always has, and always will." James caressed Isabelle's face, his fingertips ghosting over her cheek, her jaw, and settling at the back of her neck. "Her heart belongs to him, and his to her…just as mine belongs to you…." Isabelle's eyes shot quickly to his face, searching for a lie. "If you'll have it."

Isabelle found it hard to breath, a fiery heat washing through her. She gripped the rail and tried to ease back, her knees threatening to give out. She opened her eyes and locked her gaze on that of James Norrington.

"What are you doing?" Her voice came out as a whisper.

"Something I've been meaning to for some time now."

* * *

_**A/N: **Sorry it took so long for an update, I had some problems with this chapter and the next one, but it's better now. Thank you so much, you know how much I love your reviews!!_


	37. Final Destination

His voice ghosted across her, caressing and assaulting her at the same time. Isabelle closed her eyes though she didn't know why. Beneath James' warm and insistent touch, her head tilted gently back, her face upturned towards his as he brought his lips gently down to brush across hers. Isabelle opened her eyes when his lips left hers. She searched his face even as he searched hers, neither knowing what it was they were looking for. Without a word uttered between them, he eased back towards her and let his lips brush hers again. He felt her breath catch a second time and this time he deepened the kiss by applying the slightest pressure to her lips. His fingers kneaded gently at the back of her neck, his fingers entwining in her soft hair. With his other hand, he gently touched her waist. She gasped at the fiery heat that swept up through her, threatening to weaken her knees. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life. To date the only fire she had experienced had stemmed from hate, greed, and anger. She could remember but few times that such warmth had come from more pleasant emotions or memories. This was something new, and she was experiencing it herself. Slowly, she felt James' lips work against hers. She had never kissed anyone before, and she felt wildly inexperienced and inept; more so when she felt James' lips work against hers and his tongue slide slowly across her bottom lip. Isabelle's head swam and her knees truly threatened to give out beneath her. James felt her sag and he remembered back to what she had said earlier.

_It's as if the whole world is new to me_. _Every sight, every sound, every smell; it's as if I'm experiencing it for the very first time._

He supposed every touch must feel new as well…another part of him wondered if it truly was a new experience for her; that he was the first man to brush his lips across hers. "I've been wanting to do that for some time…." He admitted suddenly. Memories flooded her mind and she remembered the night he'd rescued her from the mob, when he'd had her pinned to the wall, or beneath him when the marines had fired into them. She remembered the night she had fled Cutler after he had struck her so forcefully he'd drawn blood. She saw images on the _Dutchman. _All moments when James had felt desire rush up within him and he had wanted to claim her lips and taste them for himself. Moments he had restrained himself or when circumstances had worked against them.

Isabelle stared at him for a moment and hoped her face hadn't taken on the rose hue of the sky. His lips on hers had felt vaguely familiar and she was briefly whisked back to her incarceration in the brig of the _Dutchman._ She had dreamt of a darkened room lined with books and had dozed in a chair. She'd been awoken by a comforting figure who had brushed his lips ever so gently across hers. She also thought back to the moment when James had held her after the _Endeavor _had gone down.

_It was you._

She had whispered but had been drowned out by the sound of the pirates around her. That was why she had asked James about his experience after leaving the _Flying Dutchman._ She had wanted to know if he knew where he'd been, or if he remembered her being there.

"Say something…" James said resting his forehead against hers with his eyes shut. "Please say something."

"I don't know what to say…." She whispered back. She covered her mouth with her fingertips to stifle the laughter that threatened to spill forth. James brushed his lips across her fingertips. Slowly she dropped her hand and he claimed her lips again; this time with none of the gentle teasing or light caresses. James devoured her lips, drinking deeply of her scent and taste as he held her close to him. He could feel her chest rising and falling against his, her breaths coming rapidly as he plundered her mouth, his tongue seeking to duel with hers. Isabelle wondered somewhere in the back of her mind if all women felt this way when kissed by a man whom they loved and who loved them in return. She soon realized that most women only felt half of what she did; she was experiencing a double euphoria through not only her own experiences, but through James' as well. She ran her hands up his broad chest and draped her arms over his shoulder even as the mental picture drifted from his mind to hers. The top of the sun dipped below the horizon and a green flash swept out and across the sea, engulfing the gently bobbing _Black Pearl._ James felt Isabelle shudder in his arms, unsure as to what had happened, but not really caring. He had found the woman he had desired for so long and he had her right where he wanted her.

* * *

Isabelle awoke with a start. She was not sure what had roused her from such a deep and satisfactory sleep. Her lips were warm still as was her side, where James' hand lay heavily as he slept beside her. She sat up slowly and looked back down upon him, slowly extricating her self from their bed. She watched as he settled back against the pillows and sighed, but he did not rouse. She smiled down at him and padded silently up the dark, pre-dawn hall. Opening the first door, she looked in at the tiny bed and cradle of her youngest children, a boy named Aaron who was only just approaching his first year and a daughter named Emily who was nearing three. Both had blonde hair and the cherubic faces of the young. They were sound asleep in the early morning, not even their nurse was awake. Isabelle smiled and shut the door quietly and padded across the hall to look in on another room. Her daughter Elizabeth slept with her arm curled around the large porcelain doll that James had bought her for her last birthday. In the next room, her son, James Alexander slept, his arm dangling over the edge of the bed where he had been fingering the mast of a carved wooden sloop before he'd drifted off the night before. Noting that all was silent and well within her house, she stepped out onto the open portico that overlooked the harbor beyond.

Isabelle breathed deeply of the early morning air and hugged her arms closer to herself. She thought back to her dream and smiled at the vivid memory of the first kiss she'd shared with James Norrington. There had been hundreds, nay, thousands of kisses since then, each as sweet, if not sweeter, than the last. Why, suddenly, had that first kiss come so vividly to her mind?

She looked out over the harbor at Charlestown and thought about the events that had followed that fiery kiss, one that still took her breath away, and led her to where she stood today.

* * *

Isabelle thought back to that long ago evening and remembered when Elizabeth had stepped onto the decks of the _Black Pearl. _She had smiled sadly at the others and asked to be taken to a port nearby. Isabelle and James sat with her as Jack issued orders at the helm.

"What will you do?" Isabelle asked.

"I don't know. I'll think of something." Elizabeth said, her voice thick with unshed tears.

"Let us help you." Isabelle said grasping the other girl's hand. "I still have connections….for now."

"I couldn't…"

"You will." James said. "You've never listened to me in the past, but in this, you haven't a choice."

Elizabeth had nodded and accepted what little Isabelle had been able to do for her. Isabelle, accessing Company funds while still available to her, had purchased an old tavern in a small port on the island and had it refurbished. Elizabeth was then set up as a tavern keeper. Company trade flooded through the town and Elizabeth's tavern, _The Captain's Heart _would garner much of the merchant layovers.

James had proposed marriage and Isabelle had quickly and happily agreed. Though they invited Elizabeth to their wedding, she had been unable to travel. In a letter returned to them shortly before their wedding day, they discovered that she was with child. Isabelle thought about postponing the wedding and making a trip to the island port where Elizabeth was a new inn proprietress, swiftly growing heavy with child, but had been dissuaded by James and by Elizabeth in a line of her letter.

_Please don't think that I need any more help than you have already given to me. I can not rely on you forever. I must learn to stand on my own two feet, and I must support my child—Will's child. If I am in dire need, believe me that I will send word, but do not trouble your selves just yet. Enjoy your happiness together._

"She is a head strong girl. I hope that is something she instills in her child for I think in this new age it will be a necessary trait." James had said after he read the letter. "She might not ask for help until it is too late, but she has never been one to use others as a crutch. We've done all we can for her."

* * *

Isabelle and James had returned to England to make reports and to be closer to James' family for the wedding. Isabelle had gone to the main offices of the East India Trading Company and made her report to them regarding Cutler's death and the vacancy in the Indies. They were quick to appoint Percival Reynolds, just as Cutler had feared and Isabelle smiled to think that he had been right to fear the bookish man the company chose as his replacement. But there was more news to be had from the Company. Isabelle discovered that Lord Andrew Beckett had established a trust for her as a dowry. Part of it was in company stock, the rest was in hard currency of gold and silver. Had she not married, the stocks and money would have rolled over to Cutler; thus revealing the primary reasoning for Cutler's rebuke of previous suitors. Isabelle was shocked at the wealth she suddenly found herself with. James too was shocked when he was offered a position in the newly forming American colonies. After much discussion and weighing their options, Isabelle and James decided that they would make their new home in the colonies and accepted the position.

Isabelle and James were married in a small ceremony in England. Mostly it was James' family as Isabelle had none left that she knew of. The Norrington's accepted Isabelle with open arms and were amazed at James' good fortune in finding such a fine wife. Their wedding had been a beautiful spring affair. James had been well attired in a fine new suit of clothes, and Isabelle had worn a beautiful dress made of fine pale brocade. They had stood in the church yard with the town vicar enjoying the wedding feast when a caravan of gypsies had drifted up the road. Isabelle felt eyes upon her and turned to see a woman staring back at her from the back of a wagon. The woman's eyes crinkled in a smile and she raised a hand, as if in blessing. Isabelle ducked her head in acknowledgement and smiled. The Roms always knew their own….a part of her wondered if the older woman had known her mother. The tinkling of bells on the wagons disappeared as the wagons turned up the deeply rutted roads and disappeared into the distant countryside. Isabelle would never know. That life had been lost to her long ago.

The Norrington's left England, much to the dismay of James' family, and established themselves in the newly forming city of Charles Town.

A year after their marriage, while in the midst of building a country plantation in the Carolina low country, they received a birth announcement, telling them that Elizabeth had been delivered of a healthy baby boy the winter before, who she had named William Swann Turner. They heard little from Elizabeth after that, busy as she was with running her tavern and raising her son, though James and Isabelle never failed to send gifts on either William's or Elizabeth's natal days.

* * *

Isabelle let her memories of the past ten years wash over her. For all the bad memories Cutler had instilled in her over the course of the years between his father's death and his own, her life to date had been filled with wonderful memories: her marriage to James, the birth of each of their children, the wealth and good fortune that had been visited upon them. She stood now in their town home on the lower peninsula of the city of Charles Town. The home had wide doors and windows and the big portico looked out over the busy harbor and the sea beyond which had been such a major part of both their lives. The sky was beginning to color itself a pale butter yellow with the slow rising of the sun. She watched as the harbor waters glittered and a ship eased itself around distant Morris Island and turned into the channel, its sails catching the light and the wind. She did not startle when James came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her, resting his head upon her shoulder and following her gaze.

"Did I wake you?" She asked as she felt him nuzzle her neck.

"No…What is it?" He whispered, his voice still heavy with sleep.

"I don't know." She answered with a sigh. He turned his eyes back to the ship entering the harbor and watched as the sky continued to lighten and change colors. The sky was just turning orange when she spoke again. "I was woken by a dream."

"All the children are well I'm sure." James breathed in the scent of her hair, still golden and no less dull for the ten years that had elapsed since he'd known her. "Or you'd be with whichever one was upset…."

"I was dreaming about our first kiss."

"Do you remember no others?" She heard laughter in his voice and leaned back into his chest, tilting her head to rest upon his shoulder as his lips blazed fiery trails along her neck.

"Many…" James's arms tightened about her and she turned her head up to receive a warm and gentle kiss in the cool morning light. James felt her gasp and both turned to watch the sun ease up over the horizon, the great red globe preceded by a vibrant green flash that raced across the harbor.

"Ah, now I see why I've been reminiscing..." Isabelle whispered, a smile playing upon her face. "Today is a special day indeed…."

James turned Isabelle to face him and held her, much as he had ten years ago upon the deck of the _Black Pearl._ His lips brushed softly over hers.

"James, the neighbors…" She hissed as she pushed away from him slightly, but there was laughter in her eyes and her voice as she said it.

"Bugger the neighbors…" He growled against her lips before claiming them again, devouring her lips in a passionate kiss to rival any they'd shared in the near decade of their marriage. The sun began to cast a warm orange glow over everything, drying the dew that sat heavily upon the garden flowers and the palmettos that grew at the corner of the house, but Isabelle and James were both oblivious to the new dawn rising and to the peeping hazel eyes of Elizabeth who stood watching her parents embrace and had to stifle a giggle.

* * *

After having been cast so low at one point or another in their lives, they had finally reaped great rewards. James, once a rum soaked cast out of a naval officer had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and become one of the leading merchants and trade officers in the city of Charlestown and the colonies of South Carolina, Georgia and several ports in the Caribbean. Isabelle, once struck numb and fearful by the very power of her brother's anger and greed was now a well respected female figure in the community and a mother of four children.

The green flash marked ten years of happiness, a house full of beautiful and healthy children, wealth, health and continued love.

It was more than either of them had dared to hope for when they had both been the means to someone else's ends.

Their own ends were much better.

* * *

_**A/N: **Well, thank you ever so much, my faithful readers, for your wonderful reviews of the past. Your suggestions, your creative criticisms and your praise. Unfortunately this is the end of our journey together. Sad, I know. I've been postponing posting this for just that reason. So I guess, for now, this is good bye, and I hope to see your reviews of other things I write in the future...or not... ;-D_


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